“So I’ve ’eard, sir,” said Joe, again.
Flower turned and paced a little up and down the deck, deep in thought. He had arrived in London three hours before to find that Poppy had left her old lodgings without leaving any clue as to her whereabouts. Then he had gone on to the Wheelers, without any result, so far as he was concerned, although the screams of the unfortunate Mrs. Wheeler were still ringing in his ears.
“I’ll go down below and wait,” he said, stopping before the men. “Tell Fraser I’m there, or else he’ll be startled. I nearly killed poor old George. The man’s got no pluck at all.”
He moved slowly towards the cabin and Poppy, leaving the men exchanging glances of hopeless consternation. Then, as he turned to descend, the desperate Joe ran up and laid a detaining hand on his sleeve.
“You can’t go down there,” he whispered, and dragged him forcibly away.
“Why not?” demanded the other, struggling. “Let go, you fool.”
He wrenched himself free, and stood gazing angrily at the excited seaman.
“There’s a lady down there,” said the latter, in explanation.
“Well, I sha’n’t eat her,” said the indignant Flower. “Don’t you put your hands on me again, my lad, or you’ll repent it. Who is it?”
Joe eyed him helplessly and, with a dim idea of putting off the discovery as long as possible, mysteriously beckoned him forward.