‘Said to be very rich, isn’t he?’ asked Rodley.
This question brought the eyes of the party to bear again upon the speaker, the problem troubling the rude minds being: ‘If this chap wants to see the captain, and hails from Saint Quinians, why on earth does he go two miles farther than he need?’ Mental conclusion arrived at—stranger up to no good.
‘Well, no, mate,’ replied the man to Rodley’s question; ‘he ain’t what you’d call rich, not by no means, seein’ that he’s only a half-pay captain. But he’s been richer durin’ this last four year than he wur afore.’
‘Lives all alone with his daughter, doesn’t he?’ continued Rodley.
Mental conclusion previously arrived at by the party is confirmed.
‘Yes,’ replied the man who acted as spokesman; ‘lives with Miss Bertha, the cap’en do. She’s a proper quean, she is. Purtiest slip of a lass in these parts by a long way. But the cap’en he keeps her uncommon close; can’t a-bear her to be out of his sight; and when she goes into town a-marketin’ on Wednesdays, we says it’s about all the life she sees.’
Another silence ensued, during which the half-dozen pairs of eyes were taking stock of Rodley sideways, and endeavouring to solve the problem of his intentions from his dress and appearance.
At length Rodley said: ‘Wasn’t there a lugger wrecked off here about four years ago called the Fancy Lass?’
‘Nobody heard of it,’ replied the spokesman. ‘There was a lugger of that name left Saint Quinians about four years agone; but she warn’t never heard of no more; and bein’ a smuggler, that ain’t surprisin’.’
‘I thought some bodies were washed ashore by the Locket Rock about that time,’ observed Rodley.