“Of course I remember that; we had a lot o' trouble with the Customs just then. The thing was ferreted out by a young newspaper fellow!”
Christian rubbed his hands slowly together. He was terribly anxious to hear the sequel.
“I am that newspaper fellow,” he said, with a quick smile.
Captain Lebrun slowly stood up. He contemplated his pipe thoughtfully, then laying it upon the table he turned solemnly towards Christian, and held out a broad brown hand which was covered with scales in lieu of skin.
“Shake hands, mister?” he said.
Christian obliged him.
“And now,” he said quickly, “I want to know what has happened since—since I left England. Has there been a great row? Has ... has anybody wondered where I was?”
The old sailor may have had his suspicions. He may have guessed that Christian Vellacott had not left England at the dictates of his own free will, for he looked at him very kindly with his liquid blue eyes, and replied slowly:—
“I couldn't say that nobody hasn't been wonderin' where ye was, but—but there's been nothing in the papers!”
“That is all right! And now will you give me a passage, Captain?”