"That I shall be fit and out to-morrow," said Anthony.
"That is excellent. The rogues," said Captain Weir, "to attack you in the open street, and carry you aboard ship!" His green, stone-like eyes searched Anthony. "She was a Frenchman, I understand."
"She flew the French flag," said Anthony.
Captain Weir shook his head.
"I understand," said he. There was a moment's silence; his eyes still searched the young man, and then he spoke again. "It was quite fortunate that Sparhawk walked home with you yesterday. He says you went quite weak."
"More so than he thought," said the young man.
"You have very pleasant quarters here." Captain Weir looked about, approvingly. "Quite snug for a bachelor; your pipes and tobacco, your wine-flask and brandy-bottle near at hand, your books on a rack where they may be had in a moment." His eyes, like those of Mr. Sparhawk, rested upon the bulky ledgers; and he smiled oddly. "That is the last of them, I suppose," said he. And, as Anthony nodded, the captain went on: "All the others have gone back to your uncle."
"No," said Anthony; "those of interest are inside there."
Captain Weir laughed; but his eyes narrowed as he said:
"If Sparhawk had seen those, he'd have marveled at your industry."