“Ah!” said Harry, looking at him with quite an altered expression.
“You see, you don’t know all,” said Zekle mysteriously, as he went softly to the door, peeped out, and then spoke in a whisper.
“Know all!” said Harry. “Why, I know I was nearly drowned.”
“Yes,” said Zekle, going closer to him and taking hold of his pilot jacket, “you was nearly drownded; but how was it?”
“Some of your pile of mackerel net fell overboard and covered me up. It was very careless of you people.”
“Mack’rel nets don’t tumble overboard and nigh upon drownd people without somebody makes ’em,” said Zekle with a cunning leer.
“Somebody makes them!” said Harry with his eyes flashing. “Why, you don’t mean to say that anybody threw that net over me as I swam round!”
“Oh, no!” said Zekle, “I wouldn’t say such a thing of nobody. Oh, no! ’tain’t my duty to go about telling tales.”
“Look here,” said Harry sharply, “if you expect to earn any reward from me, Zekle Wynn, for telling how it was that that net came over me—and I own that it was very strange that it should just as I was swimming by—speak out like a man.”
“Oh, no! I can’t go accusing people of what they p’r’aps didn’t do,” said Zekle; “but look here, Mas’r Harry, have you got any enemies?”