“Better see to your friend for the present,” said Gerrard in the same placidly pleasant manner, as he drew him aside. “But I may mention before you go that there is, on the lower deck, ample space if you wish to fulfil your promise to complete the adornment of my prepossessing features. I am quite at your service later on in the day.”
Forreste uttered an oath and turned away, and in a few minutes was in state-room No. 16, where “Mr Capel” was being brought to by his friends.
“Who is the man that did it, Barney?” was Forreste's first question.
“I didn't know him at first, but knew him quick enough when I heard him speak,” replied Capel; “he's the ——— judge”—here he broke out into a torrent of blasphemy—“who gave me two years at Araluen.”
“Ha!” and Forreste tugged his moustache. “The sooner we get that safe affair over the better. The fellow with the scarred face who is with him tackled me and called me 'Merriton.' Some one has blown upon us.”
“Yes,” assented the Jew, “the sooner the better.” Then pouring out a glass of whisky he gulped it down. “And if I get the chance I'll get even with that Scotch swine. He's going to Somerset, and I'll get my knife into him some day. I'd not mind swinging for it.”
“Don't talk rot,” said Forreste, who yet knew that the Jew was a man who would not hesitate at murder, and that his expression about getting his knife into Fraser was meant in a very literal sense. “I mean to get even with my man if I come across him again. But I won't be such a fool as to attempt it here. Take a look outside and see if Snaky is about.”
“Snaky” was the name by which Swires was known to the gang—and the Australian police; and in a few minutes that worthy appeared, and a further conference was held.
That evening, whilst Captain MacAlister was being entertained on shore, a collier came alongside, and the Gambier began to coal. Those of the saloon passengers who had remained on board sat under the after-deck awning, where they were not only secure from the invading coal dust, but where they could enjoy the cool sea-breeze. Among them were Kate and Jim, who had made themselves comfortable in two cane lounges, and at various parts of the quarter-deck were groups of passengers—principally ladies—who were glad to escape from the confined atmosphere of the saloon, and intended to sleep in the open air. Gerrard and Fraser had gone on shore, leaving Jim “in charge of Kate,” as Fraser had said.
At the extreme stern were Captain Forreste, Pinkerton, two or three other men, and several ladies, and from this group came much laughter, the “captain” being in great good humour, and winning the ladies' smiles by his skill as a raconteur.