Deacon ignored him, and returned to the attack on the pearl-buyer.
“How do you know from the sound of the anchor that it was this whatever-you-called-him man?” he challenged.
“There are so many things that go to make up such a judgment,” Peter Gee answered. “It's very hard to explain. It would require almost a text book.”
“I thought so,” Deacon sneered. “Explanation that doesn't explain is easy.”
“Who's for bridge?” Eddy Little, the second clerk, interrupted, looking up expectantly and starting to shuffle. “You'll play, won't you, Peter?”
“If he does, he's a bluffer,” Deacon cut back. “I'm getting tired of all this poppycock. Mr. Gee, you will favour me and put yourself in a better light if you tell how you know who that man was that just dropped anchor. After that I'll play you piquet.”
“I'd prefer bridge,” Peter answered. “As for the other thing, it's something like this: By the sound it was a small craft—no square-rigger. No whistle, no siren, was blown—again a small craft. It anchored close in—still again a small craft, for steamers and big ships must drop hook outside the middle shoal. Now the entrance is tortuous. There is no recruiting nor trading captain in the group who dares to run the passage after dark. Certainly no stranger would. There were two exceptions. The first was Margonville. But he was executed by the High Court at Fiji. Remains the other exception, David Grief. Night or day, in any weather, he runs the passage. This is well known to all. A possible factor, in case Grief were somewhere else, would be some young dare-devil of a skipper. In this connection, in the first place, I don't know of any, nor does anybody else. In the second place, David Grief is in these waters, cruising on the Gunga, which is shortly scheduled to leave here for Karo-Karo. I spoke to Grief, on the Gunga, in Sandfly Passage, day before yesterday. He was putting a trader ashore on a new station. He said he was going to call in at Babo, and then come on to Goboto. He has had ample time to get here. I have heard an anchor drop. Who else than David Grief can it be? Captain Donovan is skipper of the Gunga, and him I know too well to believe that he'd run in to Goboto after dark unless his owner were in charge. In a few minutes David Grief will enter through that door and say, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks.' I'll wager fifty pounds he's the man that enters and that his words will be, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks. '” Deacon was for the moment crushed. The sullen blood rose darkly in his face.
“Well, he's answered you,” McMurtrey laughed genially. “And I'll back his bet myself for a couple of sovereigns.”
“Bridge! Who's going to take a hand?” Eddy Little cried impatiently. “Come on, Peter!”
“The rest of you play,” Deacon said. “He and I are going to play piquet.”