The Woman in White did even better than the captain anticipated, and landed her owner in Southampton at ten minutes to eleven. He bade farewell to his men, and dispatched them to their homes, none the poorer for their long voyage. He visited the land agent’s office, transacted his business within ten minutes, drew his check, and told the manager to have the papers ready by twelve o’clock next day. Then he went to the back street, and knocked at the number the captain had given him. The door was opened by a buxom young woman, in whose flashing eyes he recognized her father.
“Well, my dear,” he said, chucking her under the chin, “are you the gallant captain’s daughter, as we say in the revised version of ‘Pinafore’?”
The girl drew back in righteous anger, and if a dagger glance of the eyes could have slain, he would have been in danger, but the callous young man merely laughed.
“Mother at home?” he asked.
“Who are you?” demanded the offended girl.
“That’s the same question your father asked me. It’s a secret, and I’ll tell it only to your mother.”
At this moment the mother, hearing the high tones of her daughter, and fancying something was wrong, appeared in the hall; a stout, elderly woman, who frowned at the tall, nattily dressed stranger.
“My name is Stranleigh, madam, and I am by way of being a shipowner. Your husband is one of my captains.”
“He is nothing of the sort. He is captain of the Rajah.’”
“Quite right, and I am the owner of the Rajah. Your husband has just bought that little bit of property down the bay; the one with a cottage and a flag pole, you know.”