From the lantern-lit group a tall, cadaverous figure detached itself. Mr. Rufus Terrill was as angular as an old fashioned candlestick, and about as slender. His skin was yellow and his teeth long and sharp, projecting like tusks from under a scraggly mustache. His eyes were cold and watery, yet had a penetrating quality. He looked sharply at Jack. Perhaps he read a look of disapproval in the boy’s eyes, for he soon relaxed his clammy clasp on the lad’s hand.
“Mr. Terrill is my partner, my business partner, Jack,� said Uncle Toby.
“So I’ve heard,� said Jack shortly.
“You have. How’d you find out that?� asked Mr. Terrill quickly, darting his head in and out of a collar several sizes too large for his scrawny neck, like a box-turtle looking out of his shell.
“I visited your offices in New York,� rejoined Jack, “and now let’s go aft, Uncle Toby.�
Sail was made again and the party, including Merryweather and Sherry, made their way toward the stern. Jack was not a little troubled. By an extraordinary coincidence he was reunited to his uncle. But he had yet to learn the details of the mad cruise, of which the note nailed up on the door of the Venus had first apprised him. Of one thing, however, he was very sure. His first five minutes’ observation of Mr. Terrill had convinced him that that gentleman would bear watching.
After he had told his story, Jack maneuvered things so that Mr. Terrill was told off to show Merryweather and Sherry their sleeping places.
“Now, then, uncle,� said Jack, “what is all this?�
Uncle Toby’s lined and seamed old face assumed a look of extraordinary cunning.
“We’re on our way to get rich, lad,� he chuckled, “rich as that Greaser chap history tells about.�