Jessop looked at him with contempt. "Know this shanty," said he, with a grin, "why, in coorse, I do. I've been swinging my hammock here time in and out for the last thirty year."
"You'll be a Christchurch man, then?"
"Not me, mate. I'm Buckinghamshire. Stowley born."
Hurd with difficulty suppressed a start. Stowley was the place where the all-important brooch had been pawned by a nautical man, and here was the man in question. "I should have thought you'd lived near the sea," he said cautiously, "say Southampton."
"Oh, I used t'go there for my ship," said the captain, draining his glass, "but I don't go there no more."
"Retired, eh?"
Jessop nodded and looked at his friend—as he considered Hurd, since the invitation to dinner—with a blood-shot pair of eyes. "Come storm, come calm," he growled, "I've sailed the ocean for forty years. Yes, sir, you bet. I was a slip of a fifteen cabin-boy on my first cruise, and then I got on to being skipper. Lord," Jessop smacked his knee, "the things I've seen!"
"We'll have them to-night after dinner," said Hurd, nodding; "but now, I suppose, you've made your fortune."
"No," said the captain, gloomily, "not what you'd call money. I've got a stand-by, though," and he winked.
"Ah! Married to a rich wife?"