“Not a thing. He kept moving all the time.”
“’See anything?” Tegg continued.
“No. He didn’t seem to be in demand anywhere in the Channel, and, when I got him on the edge of soundings I dropped him—as per your esteemed orders.”
Tegg nodded again and murmured some apology.
“Where did you pick him up, Maddingham?” Portson went on.
Maddingham snorted.
“Well north and west of where you left him heading up the Irish Channel and stinking like a taxi. I hadn’t had my breakfast. My cook was seasick; so were four of my hands.”
“I can see that meeting. Did you give him a gun across the bows?” Tegg asked.
“No, no. Not that time. I signalled him to heave to. He had his papers ready before I came over the side. You see,” Maddingham said pleadingly, “I’m new to this business. Perhaps I wasn’t as polite to him as I should have been if I’d had my breakfast.”
“He deposed that Maddingham came alongside swearing like a bargee,” said Tegg.