"And he—this man with the hook is dead, you say?"
"And burning in hell-fire!"
"Are you sure?"
"I killed him, shipmate!"
"You!" says I.
"I, shipmate. We fought on a shelf o' rock high above the sea, my knife agin his knife and hook—'twas that same hook gave me this scar athwart my jaw—but as he struck, I struck and saw him go spinning over and over, down and down and splash into the sea. And for three days I watched that bit o' shore, living on shell-fish and watching for him, to make sure I had finished him at last."
"And these other rogues?" says I.
"What like were they, shipmate?" Hereupon I described (as fully as I might) the three sailor-men I had fought with in the hedge-tavern (albeit I made no mention of the maid), while Penfeather listened, nodding now and then and pinching at his long chin. "And this other fellow," says he, when I had done, "this fellow that sang—d'ye know if his name chanced to be Mings—Abnegation Mings, comrade?"
"The very same!" says I.
"Strange!" quoth Penfeather, and thereafter sat staring gloomily down into the rippling waters of the brook for a while. "I wonder?" says he at last. "I wonder?"