"Never mind Blind George—unless you want to make him a present. I don't. Blind George can fish for himself. He's shoved out. We'll do it, and we'll keep what we get. Now where are the notes? Who's got them?"
Dan Ogle stood silent a moment, considering. He looked over the bank toward the London streets, down on the grass at his feet, and then up at an adventurous lark, that sang nearer and still nearer the town smoke. Last he looked at Viney, and make up his mind. "Who's got 'em?" he repeated; "Cap'en Nat Kemp's got 'em."
"What? Cap'en——"
"Cap'en Nat Kemp's got 'em."
Viney took a step backward, turned his foot on the slope, and sat back on the bank, staring at Dan Ogle. "Cap'en Nat Kemp?" he said. "Cap'en Nat Kemp?"
"Ay; Cap'en Nat Kemp. The notes, an' the leather pocket-book; an' the photo; an' the whole kit. Marr's photo, ain't it, with his mother?"
"Yes," Viney answered. "When he was a boy. He wasn't a particular dutiful son, but he always carried it: for luck, or something. But—Cap'en Kemp! Where did he get them?"
Dan Ogle sat on the bank beside Viney, facing the river, and there told him the tale he had heard from Mrs. Grimes. Also he told him, with many suppressions, just as much of his own last night's adventure at the Hole in the Wall as made it plain that Captain Nat meant to stick to what he had got.
Viney heard it all in silence, and sat for a while with his head between his hands, thinking, and occasionally swearing. At last he looked up, and dropped one hand to his knee. "I'd have it out of him by myself," he said, "if it wasn't that I want to lie low a bit."
Dan grunted and nodded. "I know," he replied, "The Juno. I know about that."