"To a passenger on board this steamer."
The captain shook his head. His whole expression was one of
disapproval.
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "If Robins has failed in his duty, which I
still take the liberty of doubting, I must cross-question him
at once."
Crawshay assumed the air of a pained invalid whose wishes have been
thwarted.
"You must really oblige me by doing nothing of the sort," he begged.
"I am sure that my way is best. Besides, you make me feel like an
eavesdropper--a common informer, and that sort of thing, you know."
"I am afraid that I cannot allow any question of sentiment to stand
between me and the discipline of my ship," was the somewhat
uncompromising reply.
Crawshay sighed, and with languid fingers unbuttoned his overcoat and
coat. Then, from some mysterious place in the neighbourhood of his
breast pocket, he produced an envelope containing a single
half-sheet of paper.
"Read that, sir, if you please," he begged.
The captain accepted the envelope with some reluctance, straightened
out its contents, read the few words it contained several times, and
handed back the missive. He stood for a moment like a man in a dream.
Crawshay returned the envelope to his pocket and rose to his feet.
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