“Aye, aye, Captain, but Ah’ve kep’ a eye upon him, to see what he were up to. A pal of mine done that business for me, an’ as fur as we mak’ aht, he hasn’t done mooch correspondering, an’ nothing suspicious-loike. Ah’ve a pal in t’ poast-office, as Ah have moast pleaces, an’ ye can tak’ my word for’t.”
“An’ now we’ve fahnd him aht spying at us from t’ scaur, as we did yesterneght, Ah seay it’s high toime as a stop wur put to his goings on, an’ it’s not loike ye, Capt’n, to seay neay to that.”
“I don’t say nay to that,” said the little withered man, with an ugly grin on his face. “You know me better. But no good ever comes of using violent means until you’ve tried all others. I’ll be on the scaur myself to-night and watch.”
Freda stared down at the group, fascinated with horror. There was a brutal callousness of look and tone in these men which made her feel as if she were watching a cageful of wild beasts. Every line of their weather-beaten faces, dimly as she saw them by the light of two flaring tallow candles, seemed to her to be eloquent of the risks and dangers of a hardening and brutalising life. And the face which looked the most repulsive of all was that of the leader. Was he her father? The girl prayed that it might not be true. Although his speech was so much more correct than that of the rest as to mark him as belonging to a higher class, his voice was coarse and thick, and his manner furtive and restless. Even the faint twinkle of humour which was visible in the eyes of the wizened informer, James Braim, was absent from those of his chief. Those few words, in which he said that he would watch on the scaur that night, filled Freda with more anxiety for John Thurley’s safety than all the coarse threats and menacing gestures of the other three men.
“Goin’ to unload to-night, Capt’n?” asked one man.
The leader nodded.
“Must. Here’s three nights we’ve wasted hanging about, on account of the scare about this spy, whoever he is. So to-night you’ll get to work, and I’ll keep the lookout, and if anybody’s fool enough to be loafing about where he’s not wanted when he ought to be in bed, why, he can’t in fairness complain if he gets—sent home.”
He paused significantly before the last two words, and a low murmur of appreciation and amusement went round the group. Then the talk was carried on in short whispers, and Freda was presently seized with the fancy that some of the questions and answers exchanged referred to her. For the men talked about some woman, and all the questions were directed to the repulsive-looking leader, who after some minutes rose, with a remark a little louder than the previous talk.
“She won’t interfere with any of us much longer, at any rate. We can’t afford to keep spies in the camp. Now, lads, it’s time for business. Get off to the yacht, and to business as fast as you can. I’ll be down on the scaur in less than half an hour.”
The men pushed back their seats without delay, Kelk alone venturing on a grumbling word of remonstrance. And then, still watching closely from above, Freda saw a very strange occurrence. The bare, ill-lighted cellar grew empty of all except the leader as if by magic, the men seeming to disappear into the bowels of the earth. As she looked, bending her head lower and lower with straining eyes to spy out the reason of this, Freda involuntarily drew a long breath of amazement. The solitary man left in the cellar looked up, as he was in the act of filling his own glass once more from the stone jar. The girl drew back with a cry, for a look of intense malignity passed over the man’s wrinkled face.