"Doctor Upjelly?"
Sam nodded. "It was about nine o'clock. Mr. Pugmire was settin' by the fire, not to say boozed, but as is usual about nine o'clock. 'Muzzy' is how I put it. Thinks I, 'Here's the Doctor come after Mr. Pugmire,' though I never knew such a thing in all these years before, and everyone knows Mr. Pugmire's little failings, the Doctor included."
"Was it that?"
"No, it weren't," and Sam turned his big, brown face toward me.
I knew Sam. Many and many a midnight had we spent together waiting for flighting time. I forbore in anticipation.
"'E sets himself down and 'e calls for a bottle of strong, old ale—fowlers' tipple. 'E nods quite pleasant to Mr. Pugmire, what was looking at him like a cat looks when you catch it stealin' cream. 'Pugmire,' says he, 'you will join me in a little refreshment?' But the old gentleman, he was too scairt, and 'e mumbles something and shuffles off 'ome—and I'll lay that's the first time Mr. Pugmire has been 'ome partly sober this year. Then the Doctor, he makes 'imself very pleasant, 'e does. My missus comes in and he begins asking about—what do you think 'e arst about, sir?"
"I haven't an idea."
"About the Captain, about your brother."
I was startled. I hadn't told the Doctor that my brother was coming to stay in the village—it was no business of his, and we had few confidences on any subject. Lockhart knew and, of course, Doris and her sister, but they were not likely to have said anything.
"What did he want to know?" I asked.