The Judge had wandered in, and was surveying the pair, his hands deep in his trousers-pockets.
Urquhart nodded. "You've bit it," he said.
Lancelot had been certain of it. Good Lord! The questions crowded upon him. "What kind of a ship was yours?"
"She was a brigantine. Fifteen hundred tons."
"Oh! I say—" with the air of, You needn't tell me if you'd rather not—"was she a good one?"
"She was a clipper."
"What name?"
"The Dog Star."
This was beyond everything. "Oh—good. Did you ever hang fellows?"
"We did."