THE vehicle used by Captain Somerville on his tours of inspection was standing in the Whanland coach-house; it was an uncommon-looking concern, evolved from his own brain and built by local talent. The body was hung low, with due regard to the wooden leg of its owner, and the large permanent hood which covered it faced backwards instead of forwards, so that, when driving in the teeth of bad weather, the Captain might retire to its shelter, with a stout plaid to cover his person and his snuffbox to solace it.
This carriage was made to convey four people—two underneath the hood and one in front on a seat beside the coachman. On fine days the sailor would drive himself, defended by the Providence that watches over his profession; for he was a poor whip.
It was a soft night, fresh and moist; the moon, almost at the full, was invisible, and only the dull light which pervaded everything suggested her presence behind the clouds. Captain Somerville, sitting with Gilbert over his wine at the dining-room table, was enjoying a pleasant end to his day; for Speid, knowing that his inspection work would bring him to the neighbourhood of Whanland, had delayed his own dinner till a comparatively late hour, and invited the old gentleman to step aside and share it before returning to Kaims.
A sound behind him made the younger man turn in his chair and meet the eyes of Macquean, who had entered.
‘Stirk’s wantin’ you,’ he announced, speaking to his master, but looking sideways at Captain Somerville.
‘Tell him to wait,’ said Gilbert; ‘I will see him afterwards.’
Macquean slid from the room.
The two men talked on until they were again aware of his presence. He stood midway between Speid and the door, rubbing one foot against the other.
‘It’s Stirk,’ he said.
‘I am not ready to see him,’ replied Gilbert with some impatience; ‘I will ring when I am.’