The visitor's abrupt manner irritated the captain. He knew the man to be Henry Randall, for he had seen him on several occasions. He never liked the man from what he had heard of him, and his repugnance was now steadily increasing.
"You ask me if I own the 'Eb an' Flo,' eh?"
"That's what I said."
"Well, first of all, Mister, I want to know what bizness is it of yours if I do? D'ye want to buy her?"
"I should say not," was the impatient retort. "My name is Henry Randall, and I want to know if my daughter was on board your boat the night she was supposed to have drowned herself off Benton's wharf?"
"No, I didn't see yer daughter," the captain replied. "I never sot eyes on her."
Randall's eyes opened wide in amazement at this unexpected answer. The word "liar" was on his lips, but with an effort he checked himself.
"I am surprised to hear you say that you never saw my daughter," and he looked sternly at the captain. "I have almost certain proof that she boarded your boat off Benton's wharf, and was concealed in the cabin while men were dragging the river for her body. Can you deny that?"
Exclamations from both Flo and her mother caused Randall to turn quickly around. Mrs. Tobin had risen to her feet, and her eyes were blazing with indignation. She was about to speak when her husband lifted his hand.
"Keep calm, Martha. Keep calm," he advised. "Let me handle this gent." Then he turned to Randall, "So ye say yer daughter ran away from home, eh?"