And in truth there stood such a man in much that manner. He had come down soft-footed from the streets and, lingering to assure himself he had not been followed, stepped out upon the jetty where he stayed motionless and attentive. His glance roved from point to point, noting, verifying. First the outward spread twinkle of the deserted lugger fleet at anchor; then the bulk of the Brisbane steamer at the T head, with her yellow cargo flares that showed loading still in progress: and the town, all unconscious of him. Something sinister seemed to detach this big, dim figure from the restlessness of the night; brooding apart there so coolly alert and contained. He regarded Thursday for a while, and at last, alone and with himself for confidant, he made a gesture as if to seal its folly and its whole destiny with final contempt and triumph.
He was turning away with a swing of broad shoulders when another figure slipped from the shadow and moved suddenly to confront him.
"Ah—Captain Wetherbee?"
Everywhere and always up and down the earth, and more particularly in rather unhealthful corners of it, are men who have to go braced for that questioning slur, that significant little drag before the name. It is a challenge out of time and space, and at sound of it the big fellow drew up tense like a battler in a ring.
"Halvers," stated the newcomer without preamble or apology. "I'll take halvers, if you please, Captain Wetherbee."
He revealed himself as a long, weedy frame in limp linen. Both hands were jammed into his side pockets with a singular effect—against a hypothetical chill, one would have thought. Without his stoop he might have been as tall as Wetherbee, but he had shrunken like the sleeves tucked above his bony wrists. He had an air at once fearful and implacable—the doubly dangerous menace of a timid man ready to strike.
Wetherbee was aware of it, though incredulous.
"You spoke?" he inquired, from a lengthened jaw.
"I said—halvers," affirmed this extraordinary apparition. There was no mistaking the peculiar flavor in his husky voice—no mistaking, either, that at present its owner was deadly cold sober. "Don't move, captain. I've got you covered from here.... And this time I'm not afraid to shoot!"