"No,—haven't seen him for months. Bolted, they tell me, an'—well you know better'n me, I expect."
"I don't know," Viney replied with emphasis. "I ought to know, but I don't. See here now. Less than a week ago he cleared out, an' then I filed my petition. He might ha' been gone anywhere—bolted. Might be abroad, as would seem most likely. In plain fact he was only coming down in these parts to lie low. See? Round about here a man can lie low an' snug, an' safer than abroad, if he likes. And he had money with him—all we could get together. See?" And Viney frowned and winked, and glanced stealthily over his shoulder.
"Ah," remarked Captain Nat, drily, "I see. An' the creditors——"
"Damn the creditors! See here, Cap'en Nat Kemp. Remember a man called Dan Webb?"
Captain Nat paled a little, and tightened his lips.
"Remember a man called Dan Webb?" Viney repeated, stopping in his walk and facing the other with the uneasy grin unchanged. "A man called Dan Webb, aboard o' the Florence along o' you an' me? 'Cause I do, anyhow. That's on'y my little hint—we're good friends altogether, o' course, Cap'en Nat; but you know what it means. Well, Marr had money with him, as I said. He was to come to a quiet anchorage hereabout, got up like a seaman, an' let me know at once."
Captain Nat, his mouth still set tight, nodded, with a grunt.
"Well, he didn't let me know. I heard nothing at all from him, an' it struck me rather of a heap to think that p'raps he'd put the double on me, an' cleared out in good earnest. But yesterday I got news. A blind fiddler chap gave me some sort o' news."
Captain Nat remembered the meeting at the street corner in the evening after the funeral. "Blind George?" he queried.
"Yes, that was all the name he gave me; a regular thick 'un, that blind chap, an' a flow o' language as would curl the sheathing off a ship's bottom. He came the evening before, it seems, but found the place shut up—servant gal took her hook. Well now, he'd done all but see Marr down here at the Blue Gate—he'd seen him as clear as a blind man could, he said, with his ears: an' he came to me to give me the tip an' earn anything I'd give him for it. It amounted to this. It was plain enough Marr had come along here all right, an' pitched on some sort o' quarters; but it was clear he wasn't fit to be trusted alone in such a place at all. For the blind chap found him drunk, an' in tow with as precious a pair o' bully-boys as Blue Gate could show. Not only drunk, neither, but drunk with a slack jaw—drunk an' gabbling, drunk an' talkin' business—my business—an' lettin' out all there was to let,—this an' that an' t'other an' Lord knows what! It was only because of his drunken jabber that the blind man found out who he was."