Mechanically the orders were obeyed, and the ship berthed; and the three adventurers gathered aft beside the house and waited, with galloping pulses and a perfect vacancy of mind, the coming of the stranger who might mean so much to them. They had no plan, no story prepared; there was no time to make one; they were caught red-handed and must stand their chance. Yet this anxiety was chequered with hope. The island being undeclared, it was not possible the man could hold any office or be in a position to demand their papers. And beyond that, if there was any truth in Findlay, as it now seemed there should be, he was the representative of the “private reasons,” he must see their coming with a profound disappointment; and perhaps (hope whispered) he would be willing and able to purchase their silence.
The boat was by that time forging alongside, and they were able at last to see what manner of man they had to do with. He was a huge fellow, six feet four in height, and of a build proportionately strong, but his sinews seemed to be dissolved in a listlessness that was more than languor. It was only the eye that corrected this impression; an eye of an unusual mingled brilliancy and softness, sombre as coal and with lights that outshone the topaz; an eye of unimpaired health and virility; an eye that bid you beware of the man’s devastating anger. A complexion, naturally dark, had been tanned in the island to a hue hardly distinguishable from that of a Tahitian; only his manners and movements, and the living force that dwelt in him, like fire in flint, betrayed the European. He was dressed in white drill, exquisitely made; his scarf and tie were of tender-coloured silks; on the thwart beside him there leaned a Winchester rifle.
“Is the doctor on board?” he cried as he came up. “Dr. Symonds, I mean? You never heard of him? Nor yet of the Trinity Hall? Ah!”
He did not look surprised, seemed rather to affect it in politeness; but his eye rested on each of the three white men in succession with a sudden weight of curiosity that was almost savage. “Ah, then!” said he, “there is some small mistake, no doubt, and I must ask you to what I am indebted for this pleasure?”
He was by this time on the deck, but he had the art to be quite unapproachable; the friendliest vulgarian, three parts drunk, would have known better than take liberties; and not one of the adventurers so much as offered to shake hands.
“Well,” said Davis, “I suppose you may call it an accident. We had heard of your island, and read that thing in the Directory about the private reasons, you see; so when we saw the lagoon reflected in the sky, we put her head for it at once, and so here we are.”
“’Ope we don’t intrude!” said Huish.
The stranger looked at Huish with an air of faint surprise, and looked pointedly away again. It was hard to be more offensive in dumb show.
“It may suit me, your coming here,” he said. “My own schooner is overdue, and I may put something in your way in the meantime. Are you open to a charter?”
“Well, I guess so,” said Davis; “it depends.”