“Ay, to be sure,” repeated Vickers. “A glass of wine. Sylvia, dear, some sherry. I hope she has not been attacking you with her strange theories, Mr. Meekin.”
“Oh, dear, no; not at all,” returned Meekin, feeling that this charming young lady was regarded as a creature who was not to be judged by ordinary rules. “We got on famously, my dear Major.”
“That's right,” said Vickers. “She is very plain-spoken, is my little girl, and strangers can't understand her sometimes. Can they, Poppet?”
Poppet tossed her head saucily. “I don't know,” she said. “Why shouldn't they? But you were going to say something extraordinary when you came in. What is it, dear?”
“Ah,” said Vickers with grave face. “Yes, a most extraordinary thing. They've caught those villains.”
“What, you don't mean? No, papa!” said Sylvia, turning round with alarmed face.
In that little family there were, for conversational purposes, but one set of villains in the world—the mutineers of the Osprey.
“They've got four of them in the bay at this moment—Rex, Barker, Shiers, and Lesly. They are on board the Lady Jane. The most extraordinary story I ever heard in my life. The fellows got to China and passed themselves off as shipwrecked sailors. The merchants in Canton got up a subscription, and sent them to London. They were recognized there by old Pine, who had been surgeon on board the ship they came out in.”
Sylvia sat down on the nearest chair, with heightened colour. “And where are the others?”
“Two were executed in England; the other six have not been taken. These fellows have been sent out for trial.”