Then, being compelled to ask the pair inside, for it had started to rain heavily, Tom Small sat with them chatting, yet full of wonder why they had called at that early hour.
The man in the next room stood breathless behind the door, listening to all their conversation. It was quite plain that he had been seen to enter there, whereupon the coastguard’s suspicions had been aroused. He scented considerable danger. Yet his adventurous spirit was such that he smiled amusedly at old Small’s story of his sick daughter, and of the visit of the doctor.
Judd, seated in the chair which Rodwell had occupied until he had vacated it in alarm, suddenly turned to old Tom, and said:
“This gentleman here is my superior officer, Tom, and he wants to ask you something, I think.”
“Yes, sir, what is it?” asked the crafty old fisherman, turning to the man in plain clothes.
“You had a visitor here last Thursday—a gentleman. Who was he?” asked the stranger suddenly.
“Last Thursday,” repeated Small reflectively. “Now let me see. Who came ’ere last Thursday? Weren’t we both out fishin’? No,” he added: “I know! Yes, we did ’ave someone come—Mr Jennings, of course.”
“And who is Mr Jennings?”
“Why, ’e comes regularly from Lincoln for our insurances.”
The petty-officer exchanged meaning glances with his superior, who then asked—