“But I heard ’em screeching and howling at one another, sir,” persisted Mrs. Richenough. “Their quarrel must have come to blows.”
“I do not believe it,” dissented Ferrar. “Captain Tanerton would not be capable of anything of the kind. Fight with a man who has served under him!—you don’t understand things, Mrs. Richenough.”
Saxby had run for the nearest medical man. Ferrar ran to find his captain. He knew that Captain Tanerton intended to put up at a small hotel in the Minories for the night.
To this hotel went Ferrar, and found Captain Tanerton. Tired with his evening’s search after Pym, the captain was taking some refreshment, before going up to Sir Dace Fontaine’s—which he had promised, in Sir Dace’s anxiety, to do. He received Ferrar’s report—that Pym was dead—with incredulity: did not appear to believe it: but he betrayed no embarrassment, or any other guilty sign.
“Why, I came straight here from Pym,” he observed. “It’s hardly twenty minutes since I left him. He was all right then—except that he had been having more drink.”
“Old Mother Richenough says, sir, that Pym and you had a loud quarrel.”
“Say that, does she,” returned the captain carelessly. “Her ears must have deceived her, Mr. Ferrar.”
“A quarrel and fight she says, sir. I told her I knew better.”
Captain Tanerton took his cap and started with Ferrar for Ship Street, plunging into a reverie. Presently he began to speak—as if he wished to account for his own movements.
“When you left me, Mr. Ferrar—you know”—and here he exchanged a significant glance with his new first mate—“I went on to Ship Street, and took a look at Pym’s room. A lamp was shining on the table, and his landlady had the window open, closing the shutters. This gave me an opportunity of seeing inside. Pym I saw; but not—not anyone else.”