“Oh—you needn’t be afraid,” replied Philip, laughing. “The man I want is not, I suspect, a count at all—I think it’s merely a nickname.”
The Captain shook his head, and looked at his friend with a troubled countenance. “Phil, my boy,” he said, “I’m very much afraid you’re a gettin’ into bad company. In the ordinary course o’ nature, I don’t mind a little scrap in the street, or bein’ butted violent; but w’en you knows the lubber I’d nabbed, an’ ’e knows you by another name—I don’t like it. An’ now, ’ere’s another of ’em, also under a wrong flag. No, Phil”—the Captain was very emphatic about the matter—“I do not like it!”
“Very well,” said Philip, somewhat testily, “I won’t trouble you. If I had not been acting quite innocently in the matter, I would not have asked you to do this for me. I have no doubt——”
“Stop—stop!” broke in the Captain. “I never said I wouldn’t do it; I only expressed my opinion. Peter Quist ain’t the man to go back on a mess-mate, as you’ve found afore to-day. Trust in the old firm, Phil, my boy, and if there’s a count anywheres about Woolwich, I’ll lay ’im by the ’eels, as soon as look.”
Philip Chater urged upon him, however, the necessity for proceeding with caution; and, above all, making his enquiries in as casual a fashion as possible. It being now very near the time for keeping the appointment, the Captain, accompanied by Philip, set off on his quest; they parted near to “The Three Watermen,” Philip remaining in the shadow of an archway, to await the Captain’s return.
In a very short space of time—although it seemed long to the waiting man—Peter Quist hove in sight; coming along in a very mysterious and cautious manner, and keeping well within the shadow of the houses. He dived into the archway, dragging Philip with him; and there stood for some moments, in the semi-darkness, breathing hard, and shaking his head with much solemnity.
“Well,” asked Philip, impatiently—“what news?”
“I tell yer wot it is, young man,” replied the Captain, slowly—“you’ll be a gettin’ me into serious trouble, you will—alonger yer counts and things. I stepped into the bar, an’ I orders a drop of rum—just to ease conversation a bit; an’ I ses—off-hand like—‘’As the Count come in?’ The man was a drawin’ the rum, and ’e ses, without lookin’ up—‘No—nobody ain’t seen the Count for some days.’ Then ’e looks up—seems surprised—an’ ses—‘Who wants to know?’ I tells ’im a pal o’ mine was wishful to know about the Count. Well—Phil, my boy—the man looks at me very ’ard; and presently I see ’im a w’isperin’ to some one, wot ’ad slipped in on the quiet—an’ a lookin’ at me. So I strolls out—careless like—an’ I ’adn’t gone far, w’en I found as I was bein’ followed—and by the bloke as called you ‘Mr. Chater’ not an hour ago.”
“What—the Shady ’un?” exclaimed Philip.
“Shady or not, there ’e was; but I soon settled ’is business,” replied the Captain. “As ’e was a sneakin’ past a little shop, with steps a leadin’ down into it, I turns round on a sudden, an’ lands ’im one on wot I may call the fore-’atch—an’ down ’e tumbles into that shop. In fact,” added the Captain, with a fine air of carelessness—“the last I see of ’im, ’e was on ’is back, an’ the female wot kep’ the shop was a layin’ into ’im proper with a broom, an’ yellin’ ‘Fire!’ Accordingly, I left ’im, an’ cut on ’ere, as ’ard as I could.”