Mrs. Tipping, scorning to reply, stood for some time gazing thoughtfully about her. Then, in compliance with her whispered instructions, her daughter crossed to the side and, brushing aside the outstretched hand of the watchman, reached the jetty and walked into the office. Two of the clerks were still working there, and she came back hastily to her mother with the story of the captain’s death unmistakably confirmed.
Mrs. Tipping, loath to accept defeat, stood for some time in consideration. “What had Captain Flower to do with Mr. Robinson?” she asked at length, turning to Fraser.
“Can’t say,” was the reply.
“Have you ever seen Mr. Robinson?” enquired the girl.
“I saw him one night,” said the other, after some deliberation. “Rather good-looking man, bright blue eyes, good teeth, and a jolly laugh.”
“Are you likely to see him again?” enquired Miss Tipping, nodding in confirmation of these details.
“Not now poor Flower’s gone,” replied Fraser. “I fancy we shipped some cases of rifles for him one night. The night you first came. I don’t know what it all was about, but he struck me as being rather a secretive sort of man.”
“He was that,” sighed Miss Tipping, shaking her head.
“I heard him say that night,” said the mate, forgetful of his recent longings after truth, “that he was off abroad. He said that something was spoiling his life, I remember, but that duty came first.”
“There, do you hear that, mother?” said Miss Tipping.