"A virtue of necessity," he muttered, turning to go.
"And your sole virtue?" suggested Giles to his retreating back.
Captain Jones was gone a long time. The boys fumed with impatience and feared harm to the papers, but George Heaton grinned at them with the utmost cheerfulness. He had completely sloughed off all share in the theft and plainly enjoyed his superior's discomfiture, being of that order of creatures whose malice revels in the mischances of others.
It proved that the captain's delay was due to his reluctance to comply with Giles's demand. He came at last, slowly, bearing in his hand the packet enveloped in oilskin which Giles remembered having seen in his father's possession.
"I must do your bidding, youngster," he said angrily, "for you can harm me otherwise. But what guarantee have I, if I hand these papers to you, that you will keep the secret?"
"I never said that the secret would be kept; I said that you should suffer no harm. An innocent person is accused of this theft; the truth must be known. But I can and do promise you that you shall not be molested; I can answer for that. As to guarantee, you know my father, you know the Plymouth pilgrims, you know me. Is there any doubt that we are honourable, conscientious, God-fearing, the sort that faithfully keep their word?" demanded Giles.
"No. I grant you that. Take your packet," said Captain Jones, yielding it.
"By your leave I will examine it," said Giles unfastening its straps.
"Do you doubt me?" blustered the captain.
"Not a whit," laughed John with a great burst of mirth, before Giles could answer.