“No.”
“Just like ‘im. There never was a more free–handed gent than ‘im. Funny thing, ain’t it, that the wrong people are bloomin’ millionaires. I s’pose that’s w’y they ‘ave it—coss they stick to it. Lord love a duck, ther’s bin no trouble about money! He did some tricks at the Casino——”
“Yes, yes, he has told me that.”
“Well, w’en ‘e gives me that there packidge, ‘e forks out fifty quid, an’ says, ‘Peter, if you want more, go to my bank.’ But fifty golden suvrins is a small fortin to a sailorman—I’ve known the time it ‘ud keep me an’ my missus an’ Chris for a year—an’ I wasn’t flingin’ it about for bookin’ clerks an’ pursers to pick up, neether. We ‘ad to dig a bit out o’ the bank w’en this trip showed up, but afore that Chris an’ me worked our passidge to Scotland, an’ Hamburg, an’ as far south as Bordeaux.”
“You went to Scotland? Why?”
“Afore the Cap’n left Lunnon ‘e ‘ad a telegram from the coas–tguard to say the San Sowsy headed sou’east by east from Lochmerig, an’ them ain’t the sailin’ directions for the Shetlands, or they wasn’t w’en I was at sea. It seemed to me some old salt thereabouts might help a bit—fishermen keep a pretty close eye on passin’ craft, miss—so off we goes. I shipped as extra hand on the Inverkeld, bound from London to Aberdeen, an’ Chris was stooard in the engineers’ mess. Sure enough, I lights on a Montrose herrin’–boat as ‘ad seen the yacht bearin’ away in the line for Hamburg, I follered, on a tramp from Newcastle, but I was a week late. You see, my orders was ‘into her own ‘ands, Peter.’”
“Oh, you are a dear!”
“Well, mebbe. I’ve bin called most things in me time, miss. But it’s spinnin’ a tremenjous long yarn to go over all the ground. Wot I want to ax you now is this—wot stopped Cap’n Warden from gettin’ your letters?”
“Ah, Peter! a wicked woman, I am afraid.”
“D’ye ‘ear, Chris?” and Peter turned solemnly to his son. “Wot did I tell yer? You see, miss,” he went on, “I looked in at the Lodge, an’ med friends with a servant or two, an’ it kem out that Mrs. Laing collared a telegram addressed to you. ‘Was it himportant?’ sez one chap. ‘Reel himportant,’ sez I, ‘it was from ‘er young man.’ Beg pardon, miss, but that’s the way we talks among ourselves. ‘Oo is he?’ sez the other fellow. ‘Captain Warden,’ sez I. ‘Not Captain Arthur Warden, of Ostend?’ sez ‘e. ‘The very man,’ sez I. ‘Dash my eyes,’ sez ‘e, ‘that’s queer. Mrs. Laing wanted a letter out of the box one day w’en I was goin’ to the post, an’ that’s the very name as was on it. Wot’s ‘is little game? Is ‘e a–playin’ up to both of ‘em?’ ‘Young man,’ sez I, ‘you don’t know ‘im. ‘E’s the straightest gentleman as ever wore shoe–leather.’ I axed ‘im w’en the incident occurred, as they say in the noospapers, an’ ‘e tole me it was just arter Mrs. Laing kem to Lochmerig. In fact, ‘e wouldn’t ha’ known ‘oo she was if she ‘adn’t bin standin’ in the ‘all talkin’ to—to—wot’s ‘is name, Chris?”