“Oh, yes, yes. That's all right, I meant no disrespect to the missionaries. Many of the gentlemen engaged in missionary work in these islands have rendered very valuable services to her Majesty's ships on many occasions,” and then to himself, “and given us a devil of a lot of trouble as well.”
“Now, sir,” the Admiral resumed, “having explained that the Consul or police will attend to this deserter, you will allow me to say 'Good-day.'”
“One moment more, sir,” and a spiteful green lit up the little piggish eyes. “I desire, as a British subject, to speak to you privately on this matter, and to you alone. There are reasons—very particular reasons—why her Majesty's Consul or the Fiji police here cannot deal with this case.”
“Oh, well,” sighed the Admiral resignedly; “sit down, Mr. Howlman. I see I am in for it, and so I'll send for my secretary and——”
“Cannot this matter be arranged without a third party?”
“No, sir; it CANNOT!”
The Admiral said this with so much emphasis, and rang the bell with so much force at the same moment, that the sentry almost jumped into the cabin to see what was the matter.
“Pass the word for Mr. Hayling to come to my cabin, and to the captain that I shall not be with him for ten minutes yet. Ten minutes will do your business, Mr. Howlman, eh?”
“Certainly, your Excellency,” and an evil smile crossed the man's repulsive features.
The marine saluted, the secretary appeared, and the Admiral, nodding towards Mr. Howlman in anything but a friendly manner, growled: “My secretary, Mr. Hayling. This is Mr. Howlman, Mr. Hayling; he has a communication to make about a deserter. Now, sir, proceed.”