known English jewel-cutter and appraiser……."
"Hold on!" said Morgan. "D'you mean that Bond Street fellow, the one who's always designing the necklaces for royalty and having pictures of his work in the newspapers?"
Warren grunted. "Probably. Because it seems he was staying in Washington, and the wife of the British ambassador asked him to reset or redesign a necklace for her. I don't know the details of it — nobody knows much about it. But he left the British Embassy with the necklace one night, as safe as you please, and about four hours later they found him somewhere out Connecticut Avenue way. He was sitting on the kerbstone with his back propped up against a street lamp, and the back of his head smashed in. He didn't die, but he'll be a paralysed moron for the rest of his life, and never speak a word. That seems to be a quaint habit of this joker. He doesn't exactly kill; but he has a knack of softening their heads ho that they're worse than dead…
"By the Lord!" said Warren, clenching and unclenching his hands, "I'm wondering whether that's what / nearly got in the other cabin, only the fellow missed his aim when the ship rolled."
There was a silence, made portentous by creaking bulkheads and the blustering roar outside.
"I say, Peggy," Morgan observed, thoughtfully, "you'd better get out of this, old girl. It isn't funny. Go up to the bar and entice some gullibles into a bridge game. If this basher comes along and tries to pinch the rest of the film, we'll let you know. Meantime—"
The girl said, with vehemence, "Bah! You can't scare mc. You are a cheerful lot, though. Why don't you start telling ghost stories? If you start off by being afraid of this chap—"
"Who's afraid of him?" shouted Warren. "Listen, Baby. I've got something to settle, I have. When I get at him—" Satirically he watched her jump a little when there was a knock at the door. Captain Valvick bearing two large siphons of soda-water, bent his head under the door and closed it behind him with a mysterious air.
Morgan always remembered the ensuing two hours (or possibly three) on account of the interminable game of Geography that was played to pass away the time. Captain Valvick — cheerfully twinkling, in no whit disturbed — insisted that they should turn out the light, hook the door partly open, and get enough light from the dim bulb in the passage. First he administered to each a hair-raising peg of whisky, which made them feel anew the excellence of the adventure; then he placed them in a weird circle on the floor, with the bottle in the middle like a camp fire; finally, he filled up the glasses again.
"Skoal!" said the captain, raising his glass in the dim light. "Ay tell you, diss iss de life. Coroosh! But ay got to feel bad about Captain Whistler. Ho-ho! Dat poor old barnacle iss near crazy, you bet, on account of de crook which like to steal de jewellery. He iss afraid diss crook going to rob de English duke, and he try to persuade de duke to let him lock up de hemereld helephant in de captain's safe. But dat duke only give him de bird. He say, 'It be safer wit' me dan in your safe, or wit' de purser or anybody.' De captain say no. De duke say yes. De captain say no. De duke say yes… "