Captain Cobb was scowling thoughtfully. Manvers wore a look of deepest chagrin. Jane’s jaw had fallen and her eyes seemed perilously protrudant. Alison was leaning gracefully back in her chair—her pose studied but charmingly effective—while she favoured Iff with a scrutiny openly incredulous and disdainful.
“You say you have proofs of this—ah—assertion of yours?” demanded the captain at length.
“Oh, yes—surely yes.” Iff’s tone was almost apologetic. He thrust a hand between his shirt and waistcoat, fumbled a moment as if unbuttoning a pocket, and brought forth a worn leather wallet from which, with great and exasperating deliberation, he produced a folded paper. This he handed the captain—his manner, if possible, more than ever self-effacing and meek.
The paper (it was parchment) crackled crisply in the captain’s fingers. He spread it out and held it to the light in such a position that Staff could see it over his shoulder. He was unable to read its many closely inscribed lines, but the heading “Treasury Department, Washington, D. C.” was boldly conspicuous, as well as an imposing official seal and the heavily scrawled signature of the Secretary of the Treasury.
Beneath the blue cloth, the captain’s shoulders moved impatiently. Staff heard him say something indistinguishable, but of an intonation calculated to express his emotion.
Iff giggled nervously: “Oh, captain! the ladies—”
Holding himself very stiff and erect, Captain Cobb refolded the document and ceremoniously handed it back to the little man.
“I beg your pardon,” he said in a low voice.
“Don’t mention it,” begged Iff. He replaced the paper in his wallet, the wallet in his pocket. “I’m sure it’s quite an excusable mistake on your part, captain dear.... As for you, Mr. Manvers, you needn’t apologise to me,” he added maliciously: “just make your apologies to Captain Cobb.”