"Not p'raps exactly as you might say noos, sir, but information—information that's been transpired to me this mornin'. More or less unique information, so to say,—uncommon unique; much uniquer than usual."
With these repetitions Mr. Cripps looked hard in my grandfather's eyes, as one does who wishes to break news, or lead up to a painful subject. "What's it all about?" asked Grandfather Nat.
"The Juno."
"Well?"
"She was scuttled wilful, Cap'en Kemp, scuttled wilful by Beecher. It's more'n rumour or scandal: it's plain evidence."
My grandfather looked fixedly at Mr. Cripps. "What's the plain evidence?" he asked.
"That chap that's been so much in the bar lately," Mr. Cripps answered, his eyes wide with the importance of his discovery. "The chap that soaks so heavy, an' shouts at any one you order out. He was aboard the Juno on the voyage out, an' he deserted at Monte Video to a homeward bound ship."
"Then he doesn't know about the wreck." I thought my grandfather made this objection almost eagerly.
"No, Cap'en; but he deserted 'cos he said he preferred bein' on a ship as was meant to come back, an' one as had some grub aboard—him an' others. Beecher tried to pile 'em up time an' again; an' says the chap—Conolly's his name—says he, anything as went wrong aboard the Juno was Beecher's doin'; which was prophesied in the fo'c'sle a score o' times 'fore she got to Monte Video. An'—an' Conolly said more." Mr. Cripps stole another sidelong glance at Grandfather Nat. "Confidential to me this mornin', Conolly said more."
"What?"