"Why, sir, for the matter o' that, I dunno's I've much to 'urry me this mornin'; an' I must say I'd rather like a look at 'im. 'E must be a rare one."
"Then," Jerry said, with infinite relief, "we'll wait till he gets aboard."
He rang, and Gonzague appeared. The old Provençal stood stroking his mustache and watching the Englishman furtively out of the corners of his eyes, as if he appreciated the situation and hoped to have orders to assist in throwing him overboard. The glance of the bluff Briton at the same time lighted up in evident anticipation that the appearance of the steward meant refreshments.
"Gonzague, I'll have a little Scotch and soda. Will you take a glass of anything, sir?"
"Why, sir, seein' 's I 'ave to wait a bit, I'm not strong agin a finger or two."
"What will you have?" asked Jerry, enormously relieved to get on ground so safe as that of playing the host.
"I like red rum 's well 's most, sir," replied the other, his jolly eyes twinkling. "It's sort o' oilin' to the in'ards."
They were soon served, and Gonzague, on leaving the cabin, placed the spirits and a siphon in most engaging proximity to the guest. Time passed in the exchange of more or less nautical chit-chat for half an hour or so; when, to the great comfort of Jerry, who had been listening with one ear to the talk of his companion and with the other for the coming of the captain, Jack's hail sounded outside. Jerry, listening acutely, heard Castleport pause on deck, and at the companion-way caught a syllable or two in the unmistakable tones of Gonzague, so that he apprehended that the captain would come to the interview forewarned.
The captain came briskly into the cabin, his blue pea-jacket beaded with little globules of moisture from the fog, his hair damp and clinging to his temples.
"Hallo, Tab," he said. "The fog's as thick as it was the night we started. Ah!"