They did not speak until they had passed out beyond the town towards the bare tableland that leads to the sea.
“Couldn't face it, Jack, that's the truth,” said the captain, at last. “And if you or any others try to make me, I'll shoot myself. How many was it? Tell me quickly, man.”
“Over a hundred and ninety,” replied Stoke.
They walked out on to the bare tableland and sat down on a crumbling wall.
“And what do the papers say? I have not dared to ask for one.”
Stoke shrugged his square shoulders.
“What does it matter what they say?” answered the man who had never seen his own name in the newspapers. Perhaps he failed to understand Dixon's point of view.
“Have you seen Mary?” asked the captain.
“Yes.”
Then they sat in silence for some minutes. There was a heavy sea running, and the rocks round the Land's End were black in a bed of pure white. The Longship's lighthouse stood up, a grey shadow in a grey scene.