“I think she should,” agreed the Captain. “And then come into the house, Jerry, so that we may drink both your healths!” He ushered his wife and his friend in as he spoke, and when he had them both safely inside the kitchen, said bluntly: “There’s a great deal I shall have to tell you presently, but for the moment only one thing of importance! Both Coate and Stornaway are dead.”
Nell could only blink at him, but Mr. Babbacombe was in no mood to submit to such treatment, and said, with a good deal of asperity: “Oh, they are, are they? Then you may dashed well tell us how that came about, and what you had to do with it, Jack! I can tell only by looking at you that you’ve been up to some harebrained fetch, so out with it!”
“Oh, later, later, Bab!” the Captain said, frowning at him. “What I need is beer!”
“Very well,” said Nell, removing from his grasp the tankard he had picked up from the shelf. “I will draw you some beer, but not one sip shall you have until you do as Mr. Babbacombe bids you! He is very right! And if you suppose, sir, that you can walk in with a graze on your forehead, blood on your waistcoat, and a lame foot, without explaining to me how you came by all these things, you will very soon learn better!”
“Good God, I’ve married a shrew!” said the Captain, playing for time, while he mentally expunged from his story certain features, and materially revised others.
“John, how did my cousin come by his death?”
“He was shot when Coate’s gun exploded.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No, Nell. On my word as a gentleman I did not!”
“I shouldn’t have cared a button if you had,” she said calmly. “Did you kill Coate?”