He was smoking a foul pipe, whose fumes hung heavily upon the air of that little chamber, and there was a bottle of Nantes at his elbow.
To him, sitting thus in state, was Sir Oliver introduced--his wrists still pinioned behind him.

He was haggard and hollow-eyed, and he carried a week's growth of beard on his chin.

Also his garments were still in disorder from the struggle he had made when taken, and from the fact that he had been compelled to lie in them ever since.
Since his height was such that it was impossible for him to stand upright in that low-ceilinged cabin, a stool was thrust forward for him by one of the ruffians of Leigh's crew who had haled him from his confinement beneath the hatchway.
He sat down quite listlessly, and stared vacantly at the skipper.

Master Leigh was somewhat discomposed by this odd calm when he had looked for angry outbursts.

He dismissed the two seamen who fetched Sir Oliver, and when they had departed and closed the cabin door he addressed his captive.
"Sir Oliver," said he, stroking his red beard, "ye've been most foully abused." The sunshine filtered through one of the horn windows and beat full upon Sir Oliver's expressionless face.
"It was not necessary, you knave, to bring me hither to tell me so much." he answered.
"Quite so," said Master Leigh.