"Two hundred and for——"
Captain Brisket stopped dead and, rubbing his nose hard with his forefinger, gazed thoughtfully at Captain Bowers.
"The Fair Emily is a ship," said the latter to Mrs. Chalk.
"A ship!" cried the bewildered woman. "A ship living with her invalid mother and coming to my husband to get her a place! Are you trying to screen him, too?"
"It's a ship," repeated Captain Bowers, sternly, as he sought in vain to meet the eye of Mr. Chalk; "a craft of two hundred and something tons. For some reason—best known to himself—Mr. Chalk wants the matter kept secret."
"It—it isn't my secret," faltered Mr. Chalk.
"Where's she lying?" said Captain Bowers.
Mr. Chalk hesitated. "Biddlecombe," he said, at last.
Captain Brisket laughed noisily and, smacking his leg with his open hand, smiled broadly upon the company. No response being forthcoming, he laughed again for his own edification, and sat good-humouredly waiting events.
"Is this true, Thomas?" demanded Mrs. Chalk.