“Try a cigar,” said Mr. Tillotson, producing three in an envelope. “You’ll find them rather good.”
The gratified Henry took one, and, first crackling it against his ear, smelt it knowingly, while Mr. Tillotson, in a leisurely fashion, descended to the cabin.
A tea-tray and an untidy litter of cups and saucers stood on the table, at the end of which sat an old man with his folded hands resting on the table.
“Good-evening,” said Mr. Tillotson, pausing at the doorway and peering through the gloom to make sure that there was nobody else present. “All alone?”
“All alone,” repeated Captain Gething, looking up and wondering who this might be.
“It’s too dark to see you far,” said Tillotson, in a mysterious whisper, “but it’s Captain Gething, ain’t it?”
“That’s me,” said the Captain uneasily.
“Going to Northfleet?” inquired Mr. Tillotson in another whisper.
“What do you mean?” inquired the captain quickly, as he gripped the edges of the table.
“Are you sure it’ll be all right?” continued Tillotson.