“How many men did he have aboard? Do you know, Cap'n?”
“Only one or two, I guess, besides Mc-Glory.”
“They've gone along, of course. The only question is, did they take him with 'em?”
“How could they?” said Wilson. “He is a strong man, and there wasn't any sound of a scuffle. No, if there had been anything like that, I should have heard it.”
“I 'll tell you what I think,” said Fargo. “It isn't what I think, either; but it keeps coming up in my mind. He didn't seem quite himself when he was talking to me.”
“How—nervous?”
“Oh, no, but kind of depressed. He never says a lot, but then he isn't generally blue like he certainly was to-night. He talked about McGlory, too.”
“What did he say about him?” asked Beveridge sharply.
“He said that McGlory and Dick had disagreed, and Dick had ordered him off his schooner, and he had taken him in for the night. McGlory, he said, was so ugly there was no getting on with him. He had sort of made an errand up-town so he could get away and cool down a little. I guess he felt so glum himself he was afraid to trust himself with a man that acted like McGlory was acting.” Beveridge was standing by the door, ready to start, watching the Captain closely during this speech. Now a look of intelligence came to his face. “How are Henry Smiley's affairs—money and that sort of thing?” he asked.
“Oh, all right, I think. He has always been saving. He must have a neat little pile tucked away by this time.”