“Tell him to step up!”
“What can Jack be coming after? Anyhow I’m glad he has come. ’Twill save me the trouble of sending for him; as I’d better settle his account before starting off.” (Jack has a new score against the Captain for boat hire, his services having been retained, exclusively, for some length of time past.) “Besides there’s something I wish to say—a long chapter of instructions to leave with him. Come in, Jack!”
This, as a shuffling in the corridor outside, tells that the waterman is wiping his feet on the door mat.
The door opening, displays him; but with an expression on his countenance very different from that of a man coming to dun for wages due. More like one entering to announce a death, or some event which greatly agitates him.
“What is it?” asks the Captain, observing his distraught manner.
“Somethin’ queer, sir; very queer indeed.”
“Ah! Let me hear it!” demands Ryecroft, with an air of eagerness, thinking it relates to himself and the matter engrossing his mind.
“I will, Captain. But it’ll take time in the tellin’.”
“Take as much as you like. I’m at your service. Be seated.”
Jack clutches hold of a chair, and draws it up close to where the Captain is sitting—by a table. Then glancing over his shoulder, and all round the room, to assure himself there is no one within earshot, he says, in grave, solemn voice: