“Yes, perfectly.”
“Then I’m off. I’m dead-beat, my lad. Every hour, mind, as near as you can guess. Take hold of my whistle, and keep a sharp lookout up the river from where I did.”
“What! from up on that pile of stones at the edge of the wharf?”
“Eh?” said Blunt sharply. “How did you know I watched from that heap of stones at the edge of the wharf?”
“I saw you there.”
“What! When did you come?”
Stan was silent, feeling quite confused,
“Did you come and look at me before you went to sleep?”
“No,” said Stan slowly—“no; I’m sure now that I did not.”
“But you said you saw me there, and I never told you nor any one else that I was going to make that my post of observation.”