“We’ve heard plenty about them,” I answered, “but have seen nothing.”
“They’d better not show their ugly mugs while I’m here,” he retorted, meaningly.
I laughed. Seal’s roar of anger would in itself be sufficient to frighten away the whole of Purvis and Company.
When I took him into the grass-grown yard of the old house he looked the place up and down, and remarked: —
“A bit dilapidated, ain’t it? I should reckon we might overhaul a ghost or two inside if we had a mind to.”
“Ah, you’re superstitious, captain,” I said. “Mr. Reilly doesn’t believe in ghosts any more than I do. Come along and be introduced to him.”
We found Philip smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper under a tree in the tangled old garden. Then, when I had made the introduction, Seal said: —
“Glad to make your acquaintance, sir. Toughish job this, ain’t it? You don’t seem to have much luck up to the present. At every port I touched I expected to hear that you had found the stuff and bagged it.”
“You are best off, I think, captain,” I remarked.
“Up to now, yes. I sold my lot the day before yesterday to a dealer in Piccadilly for eight hundred and forty-six quid, and I’ve put that money safe in the bank,” he said, with evident satisfaction. “I’d rather have modern money than a collection of old coins. But I’d like to see you get your whack out of it, doctor. You deserve it—you do.”