“Well,” he exclaimed, “this is a queer meeting. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I first spotted you through the glasses. Motor-boat, too! Rather a come down, isn’t it, for seasoned yachtsmen?”
He looked curiously at his hosts, evidently a little perplexed by their silence and their unresponsive bearing. The Rodneys were, in fact, stricken dumb with dismay, and even Thorndyke was for the moment disconcerted. The lugger which had brought Varney had already gone about and was standing out to sea, leaving to them the alternative of accepting this most unwelcome passenger or of pursuing the lugger and insisting on his returning on board of her. But the Rodneys were too paralyzed to do anything but gaze at Varney in silent consternation, and Thorndyke did not feel that his position on the boat entitled him to take any action. Indeed, no action seemed to be practicable.
“This is an odd show,” said Varney, looking inquisitively about the boat. “What is the lay? You can’t be going out to fish in this craft. And you seem to be setting a course for the Scillies. What is it? Dredging? I see you’ve got a trawl-rope.”
As the Rodneys were still almost stupefied by the horror of the situation, Thorndyke took upon himself to reply.
“The occasion of this little voyage was a rather remarkable marine-worm that was sent to Professor D’Arcy and which came from the locality to which we are bound. We are going to explore the bottom there.”
Varney nodded. “You seem mighty keen on marine-worms. I remember, when I met you down here before, you were in search of them; and so was Phil, though I don’t fancy he got many. He had the bottles labelled ready for them and that was about as far as he went. Do you remember that button you made, Phil, from the cork of one?”
“Yes,” Phillip replied huskily, “I remember.”
During this conversation Thorndyke had been observing Varney with close attention, and he noted a very appreciable change in his appearance. He looked aged and worn, and there was in his expression a weariness and dejection that seemed to confirm certain opinions that Thorndyke had formed as to the reasons for his sudden disappearance from surroundings which had certainly not been without their attractions to him. And, not for the first time, a feeling of compunction and of some distaste for this quest contended with the professional interest and the sense of duty that had been the impelling force behind the long, patient investigation.
Phillip’s curt reply was followed by a rather long, uncomfortable silence. Varney, quick and sensitive by nature, perceived that there was something amiss, that in some way his presence was a source of embarrassment. He sat on the side-bench by Jack Rodney, gazing with a far-away look over the sea towards the Longships, wishing that he had stayed on board the lugger or that there were some means of escape from this glum and silent company. And as he meditated he brought forth from his pocket his tobacco-pouch and cigarette-book and half unconsciously, with a dexterity born of long practice, rolled a cigarette, all unaware that three pairs of eyes were riveted on his strangely efficient maimed finger, that three minds were conjuring up the vivid picture of a blue hand-print on a white sail.
When he had lit the cigarette Varney once more looked about the boat and again his eye lighted on the big coil of trawl-rope with its end passed out through a fair-lead. He rose, and, crossing the cockpit, looked over the side.