Many of these details were communicated in the hansom, to the surprise of Carthew.
“Why do we want to visit this old ruffian?” he asked.
“You wait till you hear him,” replied Tommy. “That man knows everything.”
On descending from the hansom at the “Currency Lass,” Hadden was struck with the appearance of the cabman, a gross, salt-looking man, red-faced, blue-eyed, short-handed and short-winded, perhaps nearing forty.
“Surely I know you?” said he. “Have you driven me before?”
“Many’s the time, Mr. Hadden,” returned the driver. “The last time you was back from the islands it was me that drove you to the races, sir.”
“All right: jump down and have a drink then,” said Tom, and he turned and led the way into the garden.
Captain Bostock met the party: he was a slow, sour old man, with fishy eyes; greeted Tommy offhand, and (as was afterwards remembered) exchanged winks with the driver.
“A bottle of beer for the cabman there at that table,” said Tom. “Whatever you please from shandy-gaff to champagne at this one here; and you sit down with us. Let me make you acquainted with my friend Mr. Carthew. I’ve come on business, Billy; I want to consult you as a friend; I’m going into the island trade upon my own account.”
Doubtless the captain was a mine of counsel, but opportunity was denied him. He could not venture on a statement, he was scarce allowed to finish a phrase, before Hadden swept him from the field with a volley of protest and correction. That projector, his face blazing with inspiration, first laid before him at inordinate length a question, and as soon as he attempted to reply, leaped at his throat, called his facts into question, derided his policy, and at times thundered on him from the heights of moral indignation.