"Fine, fine; oh, fine as gold!" murmured Condy, under his breath.
"Well," said the mate, getting up and rubbing his knee, "that's the story. Now you know all about that picture. Will you have a glass of Madeira, miss?"
He got out a bottle of wine bearing the genuine Funchal label and filled three tiny glasses. Travis pushed up her veil, and she and Condy rose.
"This is to HER," said Travis gravely.
"Thank you, miss," answered the mate, and the three drank in silence.
As Travis and Condy were going down the gangplank they met the captain of the whaleback coming up.
"I saw you in there talking to old McPherson," he explained. "Did you get what you wanted from him?"
"More, more!" exclaimed Condy.
"My hand in the fire, he told you that yarn about the girl who was drowned off Trincomalee. Of course, I knew it. The old boy's wits are turned on that subject. He WILL have it that the body hasn't decomposed in all this time. Good seaman enough, and a first-class navigator, but he's soft in that one spot."