Mr. Clark concluded his sentence with a deep-throated snarl, eloquent of hatred, contempt, and smouldering fury.
Mr. Sinnett, for lack of more intelligent comment, sipped at his glass in a non-committal way.
“Ah, it’s a sailor’s life for fun and hadventure!” cried Mr. Clark; and uttered a few tuneful roulades bearing upon his statement.
“’Ere!” he said, ceasing suddenly to be lyrical and leaning forward to address Mr. Sinnett in a kind of large confidence. “There’s people fool enough to think that I’m ’anging about Shore’aven just to work the ferry! They thinks that, they do. Let ’em, says I. So much the better.”
“Well, what are you doing here?”
Mr. Clark bent a little further forward and impressively tapped Mr. Sinnett on the knee.
“’E’s ’ere!” he whispered.
“He? Who?”
“Why, the chap I’ve been telling you about. The chap ’oo ’elped me to steal the hidol out of that sacred temple. Run away with it, ’e did, but I been tracking ’im down all these years, and now I’ve found ’im! And if he ain’t got that hidol still—”
“Valuable, is it?” asked Mr. Sinnett, intrigued.