“The next minute the Stavangers were on their way to the ship, and I was trudging back to the station, quite satisfied with the results of my mission, except for one thing. I had kept a sharp look-out on both father and son, but could see that they had no luggage whatever with them. Hugh Stavanger may have the diamonds concealed about him, or, as he is sure to have some luggage of some sort to follow him on board in the morning, the property we want to trace may be sent to him to-morrow. Anyhow, Hilton here, if he can get on board, will make it his business to seek it. He knows where to go, and he ought to start early, as the ship sails about noon. Just to finish my story—I got home as quickly as I could, and changed my clothes. Then I thought that, as you had missed Annie’s letter, you would perhaps hang about here all night, on the look-out for Captain Cochrane and his passenger. So I took a cab, and got out in the next street to the one I expected to find you in—and here I am, dead-tired, if I may own the truth.”
While Miss Cory had been talking, the trio had been walking homewards. They hoped to have come across a belated cab or hansom by the way, but were not fortunate enough to do so. They were all, therefore, very glad when they reached home, where warmth, food, and rest awaited them.
CHAPTER V.
AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW GUISE.
The ss. “Merry Maid” was making capital progress. She was well-engined, well-manned, her disc was well in evidence, and wind and weather were all that could be desired. The captain was in an unusually good humour, for, in addition to his regular means of making money over and above his salary, he had an extra good speculation on hand, in the shape of a young passenger whose supposed name was Paul Torrens, but whom we have known as Hugh Stavanger.
Mr. Torrens, as we will also call him for a time, hardly looked like the typical fugitive from justice, for his face, as he sat talking to Captain Cochrane, was that of a man who feels exceedingly well pleased with himself. The two men were sitting in the cabin of the steamer. Before them stood bottles and glasses, and the clouded atmosphere of the apartment gave testimony to the supposition that both men were ardent votaries of the goddess Nicotine.
“After all, it’s quite jolly to be at sea,” observed Mr. Torrens. “I expected to feel no end of squeamish.”
To which elegant remark Captain Cochrane replied in kind: “And you haven’t turned a hair! I am glad of it too, for I hate to have to do with folk who get sea-sick. They are such an awful nuisance while ill, and are limp and unsociable for days sometimes, even after they are supposed to be over the worst of the visitation. A fellow who can take his share at the whisky bottle is more to my taste.”
“Then I ought to suit you?”
“Yes, you do. Perhaps better than you imagine.”