I stopped, for, I tell you, I was out of breath, and, to my wonder, not a man of them moved, but all sat staring at me like as many sheep. And while they were still staring I broke out again:

“And now, Mr. Silver,” I said, “I believe you’re the best man here, and if things go to the worst, I’ll take it kind of you to let the doctor know the way I took it.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” said Silver, with an accent so curious that I could not, for the life of me, decide whether he were laughing at my request or had been favorably affected by my courage.

“I’ll put one to that,” cried the old mahogany-faced seaman⁠—Morgan by name⁠—whom I had seen in Long John’s public-house upon the quays of Bristol. “It was him that knowed Black Dog.”