"You will about this one," persisted Pengelly doggedly. "It's Silas Porthoustoc. He was found dead in his garden. Heart disease, they say. The inquest was held in the Keigwin Arms last Monday."
"Confound the fellow!" almost shouted Captain Cain angrily. "What possessed him to shuffle off this mortal coil at this time above all others, and to leave us in the lurch? Ten thousand thunders! Think of the oil-fuel we'll have to whistle for!"
"And I've only just posted his orders," added Pengelly. "What did you tell him? Will that give us away?"
"No, it won't," declared the skipper. "It will convey nothing to outsiders. 'Scilly blooms' and 'Jersey potatoes' won't give them a clue, Trust me for that. All the same, it's infernally annoying."
"It is," agreed Pengelly.
Both men relapsed into silence.
"I hope Porthoustoc got that Abrahams fellow down from London to dispose of the booty before he turned up his toes?" mused Cain.
"Wonder if Silas hid the stuff where I told him to?" soliloquised Pengelly. "Well, it's all or nothing as far as I am concerned."