The sight that roused his anger was Sir Henry Norland, in elegant half-military costume, with high riding boots and spurs; the other was a rough, ill-looking man, carrying a tray, on which was bread, a cold chicken, and what seemed to be a flask of French wine.
Certainly Hilary had just partaken of food, but a draught of milk and some bread seemed only provocatives to fresh eating in the case of a young growing fellow who had been fasting for considerably more than twenty-four hours.
“Set the tray down, Allstone,” said Sir Henry. “Don’t wait,” he continued; “I’ll lock the door after me when I come out.”
“The skipper said I was to keep charge of the young lad,” said the man, surlily.
“Keep charge, then,” said Sir Henry sharply, “but wait outside.”
The man scowled and withdrew, whereupon Sir Henry held out his hand.
“Well, Hilary,” he said, “you and I seem to meet under strange conditions.”
“May I ask, Sir Henry,” cried Hilary sharply, and without looking at the extended hand, “why I am seized, bound, and kidnapped in this disgraceful way?”
“Certainly, my dear boy,” said Sir Henry; “but let me tell you at once that I had nothing whatever to do with it.”
“Who had, then?” cried Hilary, with the blood flaming in his cheeks.