A dry, weazened little man with a halt in his step passed “The Brigantine” inn which faced the East River at the foot of Broad Street; and as he did so, he peered in at the windows and doors, for it was a fine spring morning and they stood wide. “The Brigantine” was a place for captains and mates and merchants to congregate; and all about it were warehouses, shipping offices and places for the sale of maritime stores. Apparently what the weazened little man sought was not visible in or about the tavern, for he went halting across the roadway and out upon the wharf, peering inquisitively here and there through a pair of huge, horn-rimmed glasses.…
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