“I do not like to remember them,” pursued Mr. Freeman. “As things have turned out, it would have been better that you had not used them.”
“Perhaps so,” answered Jack. “They have done no harm, that I know of.”
“They have been singularly verified. The man has been murdered.”
“Not on board the Rose of Delhi.”
“No. Off it.”
“I should rather call it death by misadventure,” said Jack, looking calmly at the broker. “At the worst, done in a scuffle; possibly in a fall.”
“Most people, as I think you will find, will call it murder, Captain Tanerton.”
“I fear they will.”
Mr. Freeman stood before Jack, waiting—at least it struck me so—to hear him add, “But I did not commit it”—or words to that effect. I waited too. Jack never spoke them: he remained silent and still. Since the past day his manner had changed. All the light-hearted ease had gone out of it; the sunny temperament seemed exchanged for one of thought and gloom.
Fine tidings to travel down to Timberdale!