“Who?” inquired his wife. “Man keeps looking in at the window,” said Pepper desperately. “Keeps looking in till he meets my eye, then he disappears. Looks like an old sea-captain, something.”
“Old sea-captain?” said his wife, putting down her work and turning round. There was a strange hesitating note in her voice. She looked at the window, and at the same instant the head of the captain again appeared above the geraniums, and, meeting her gaze, hastily vanished. Martha Pepper sat still for a moment, and then, rising in a slow, dazed fashion, crossed to the door and opened it. Mermaid Passage was empty!
“See anybody?” quavered Pepper.
His wife shook her head, but in a strangely quiet fashion, and, sitting down, took up her knitting again.
For some time the click of the needles and the tick of the clock were the only sounds audible, and the ex-pilot had just arrived at the conclusion that his friend had abandoned him to his fate, when there came a low tapping at the door.
“Come in!” cried Pepper, starting.
The door opened slowly, and the tall figure of Captain Crippen entered and stood there eyeing them nervously. A neat little speech he had prepared failed him at the supreme moment. He leaned against the wall, and in a clumsy, shamefaced fashion lowered his gaze, and stammered out the one word—“Martha!”
At that word Mrs. Pepper rose and stood with parted lips, eyeing him wildly.
“Jem!” she gasped, “Jem!”
“Martha!” croaked the captain again.