“What do you mean?” queried Brandon.
“See here,” said Caleb, enjoying their surprise, “You’ve been running this pretty much by yourselves. I haven’t said that the swab got away with the papers, have I?”
“For pity’s sake, what did he steal then?” demanded Brandon, springing to his feet.
“Well,” returned the mate of the Silver Swan, “by my reckoning he got an old pocketbook with some worthless bills of lading in it and about ten dollars in money—an’ much good may it do him.”
“Why—why—” sputtered Mr. Pepper, staring at the smiling sailor in amazement.
“Now, don’t be in a hurry,” urged Caleb. “I didn’t say the papers were stolen, so don’t ye accuse me o’ that. Ye both jumped at that conclusion and I let you think so, for as I’d made a fool of myself once by lettin’ folks know I had ’em, I reckoned I wouldn’t do it again.
“But now,” he added, “if ye think this is the time and place to see them papers, I can perduce ’em ter oncet.”
“Where are they? Let’s see ’em,” urged Brandon, in excitement.
“All right, my lad. If you says the word, why here goes.”
The old sailor laid his pipe down, and coolly began to unstrap his wooden leg. The implement was an old fashioned affair, consisting of a smoothly turned stick at the lower end hardly larger than a broom handle, but swelling as it rose, to the semblance of a leg.