He jumped a step back and then stood at attention.

"Is that you, Dobson ?" a voice asked.
Now behold the occasional advantage of a nick-name.

Dickson thought he was being addressed as "Dogson" after the Poet's fashion.

Had he dreamed it was Leon he would not have replied, but fluttered off into the shadows, and so missed a piece of vital news.
"Ay, it's me." he whispered.
His voice and accent were Scotch, like Dobson's, and Leon suspected nothing.
"I do not like this wind," he grumbled.

"The Captain's letter said at dawn, but there is no chance of the Danish brig making your little harbour in this weather.