“Well,” said my Master, “I see no harm in his coming, nor any profit.  The goods are not with us:  never were with us:  and there’s the end of it.”

But I was looking from him to my Mistress, who with bent brows sat studying the table before her.

“Master Paschal,” said she after a while, as one awaking from thought, “has done his business zealously and well.  I will go to my room now and rest:  but let me be aroused when this visitor comes, for I believe that I can deal with him.”  And she rose and walked away to the stair, with the hound at her heels.

A little later I saw my Master to his room:  and after that had some hours of leisure in which to fret my mind as well over what had happened as what was likely to.  It was hard on noon when the Commissioner arrived:  and with him Master Porson.  I led them at once to the hall and, setting wine before them, sent to learn when my Master and Mistress would be pleased to give audience.  The lady came down almost at once, looking very rosy and fresh.  She held a packet of papers, and having saluted the Commissioner graciously, motioned me to seat myself at the table with paper and pen.

Sir Nicholas began with some question touching her business on board the Saint Andrew:  and in answer she drew a paper from the top of her packet.  It was spotted with sea-water, but (as I could see) yet legible.  The Commissioner studied it, showed it to Master Porson (who nodded), and handing it back politely, begged her for some particulars concerning the wreck.

Upon this she told the story clearly and simply.  There had been a three days’ tempest:  the ship had gone ashore in such and such a manner:  a great part of the cargo had undoubtedly been landed.  It was on the beach when she had left it under conduct of Mr. Milliton, who had shown her great kindness.  On whomsoever its disappearance might be charged, of her host’s innocence she could speak.

My Master appearing just now saluted the Commissioner and gave his version very readily.

“You may search my cellars,” he wound up, “and, if you please, interrogate my servants.  My livery is known by everyone in this neighbourhood to be purple and tawny.  The seamen can tell you if any of their assailants wore these colours.”

“They assure me,” said Sir Nicholas, “that the night was too dark for them to observe colours:  and for that matter to disguise them would have been a natural precaution.  There was a wounded man brought to your house—­one Gil Perez, the boatswain.”

“He is dead, as you doubtless know, of a bite received from this lady’s hound as he was attacking her with a knife.”

“But why, madam”—­the factor turned to my Mistress—­“should this man have attacked you?”