I looked at Pyecroft for aid, Hooper was crimsoning rapidly.
“If the fat marine now occupying the foc’sle will kindly bring ’is status quo to an anchor yet once more, we may be able to talk like gentlemen—not to say friends,” said Pyecroft. “He regards you, Mr. Hooper, as a emissary of the Law.”
“I only wish to observe that when a gentleman exhibits such a peculiar, or I should rather say, such a bloomin’ curiosity in identification marks as our friend here——”
“Mr. Pritchard,” I interposed, “I’ll take all the responsibility for Mr. Hooper.”
“An’ you’ll apologise all round,” said Pyecroft. “You’re a rude little man, Pritch.”
“But how was I——” he began, wavering.
“I don’t know an’ I don’t care. Apologise!”
The giant looked round bewildered and took our little hands into his vast grip, one by one. “I was wrong,” he said meekly as a sheep. “My suspicions was unfounded. Mr. Hooper, I apologise.”
“You did quite right to look out for your own end o’ the line,” said Hooper. “I’d ha’ done the same with a gentleman I didn’t know, you see. If you don’t mind I’d like to hear a little more o’ your Mr. Vickery. It’s safe with me, you see.”
“Why did Vickery run,” I began, but Pyecroft’s smile made me turn my question to “Who was she?”