"They let him come up the river," said Granger, "why not, therefore, let him go down and out to sea? For his papers are examined when he comes, when he is empty of such stuff as he departs with. And till he is at sea, they--his cattle--are under hatches."
"Under hatches," Bufton muttered, his long chin stuck out before him, "under hatches. So that screams--the screams of women--oh! yes--they could not be heard. Of women wrenched away from----"
"Loving husbands, eh?" said Granger while controlling his features, which he feared would betray him.
"Bah! Loving husbands. No! Who cares for loving husbands? None! none, you fool!" and now there came upon the man's face that hateful sneer which always made Granger's blood boil, and, as of old, a desire to strike him on those curling lips arose. "No, dolt! I am thinking of the screams of women wrenched from those whom they have snared into a noose, those whom they have tricked and hoodwinked. My friend, you are but a simpleton."
"Oh!" exclaimed Granger coldly, with a well-assumed air of indifference, "oh! that's it, is it? It is only Anne--Bufton--you seek vengeance on?"
"Only Anne! Only Anne Bufton, as you elect to term her. Who else, in God's name, should I seek to vent vengeance on--in such a way?"
"I know not," Granger said, with an inimitable shrug of his shoulders, while at the same time he turned up the backs of his fingers and appeared to be regarding his nails with interest, "if you do not know yourself."
"What do you mean? Speak. There is something in your mind. What is it?"
"I thought," Granger replied, "that you sought revenge on Barry, too."
"On Barry! What can I do with him? Damme! The Dutchman would not take him, the captain of a King's ship, would he? Even if we could get him there."