“The young woman that came before and a stout woman with a little dark moustache and earrings. They’re going to wait until you come back to ask you a few questions about Mr. Robinson. They’ve been asking me a few. I’ve locked the door of your state-room and here’s the key.”
Flower pocketed it and, after a little deliberation thanked him.
“I did the best I could for you,” said the other, with a touch of severity. “If I’d treated you as some men would have done, I should have just let you walk straight into the trap.”
Flower gave an apologetic cough. “I’ve had a lot of worry lately, Jack,” he said, humbly; “come in and have something. Perhaps it will clear my head a bit.”
“I told ’em you wouldn’t be back till twelve at least,” said the mate, as Flower rapidly diagnosed his complaint and ordered whisky, “perhaps not then, and that when you did turn up you’d sure to be the worse for liquor. The old lady said she’d wait all night for the pleasure of seeing your bonny face, and as for you being drunk, she said she don’t suppose there’s a woman in London that has had more experience with drunken men than she has.”
“Let this be a warning to you, Jack,” said the skipper, solemnly, as he drained his glass and put it thoughtfully on the counter.
“Don’t you trouble about me,” said Fraser; “you’ve got all you can do to look after yourself. I’ve come out to look for a policeman; at least, that’s what I told them.”
“All the police in the world couldn’t do me any good,” sighed Flower. “Poppy’s got tickets for a concert to-night, and I was going with her. I can’t go like this.”
“Well, what are you going to do?” enquired the other.
Flower shook his head and pondered. “You go back and get rid of them the best way you can,” he said, at length, “but whatever you do, don’t have a scene. I’ll stay here till you come and tell me the coast is clear.”