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|The Captain of the Polestar||Arthur Conan Doyle|
That Little Square Box
|Page 8 of 14||
There was silence for some time in the smoking-room, broken only by the crisp rattle of the cards, as the man Muller shuffled them up before replacing them in his pocket. He still seemed to be somewhat flushed and irritable. Throwing the end of his cigar into the spittoon, he glanced defiantly at his companion and turned towards me.
"Can you tell me, sir," he said, "when this ship will be heard of again?"
They were both looking at me; but though my face may have turned a trifle paler, my voice was as steady as ever as I answered--
"I presume, sir, that it will be heard of first when it enters Queenstown Harbour."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the angry little man, "I knew you would say that. Don't you kick me under the table, Flannigan, I won't stand it. I know what I am doing. You are wrong, sir," he continued, turning to me, "utterly wrong."
"Some passing ship, perhaps," suggested Dick.
"No, nor that either."
"The weather is fine," I said; "why should we not be heard of at our destination."
"I didn't say we shouldn't be heard of at our destination. Possibly we may not, and in any case that is not where we shall be heard of first."
"Where then?" asked Dick.
"That you shall never know. Suffice it that a rapid and mysterious agency will signal our whereabouts, and that before the day is out. Ha, ha!" and he chuckled once again.
"Come on deck!" growled his comrade; "you have drunk too much of that confounded brandy-and-water. It has loosened your tongue. Come away!" and taking him by the arm he half led him, half forced him out of the smoking-room, and we heard them stumbling up the companion together, and on to the deck.
"Well, what do you think now?" I gasped, as I turned towards Dick. He was as imperturbable as ever.
"Think!" he said; "why, I think what his companion thinks, that we have been listening to the ravings of a half-drunken man. The fellow stunk of brandy."
"Nonsense, Dick I you saw how the other tried to stop his tongue."
"Of course he did. He didn't want his friend to make a fool of himself before strangers. Maybe the short one is a lunatic, and the other his private keeper. It's quite possible."
"O Dick, Dick," I cried, "how can you be so blind! Don't you see that every word confirmed our previous suspicion?"
"Humbug, man!" said Dick; "you're working yourself into a state of nervous excitement. Why, what the devil do you make of all that nonsense about a mysterious agent which would signal our whereabouts?"
"I'll tell you what he meant, Dick," I said, bending forward and grasping my friend's arm. "He meant a sudden glare and a flash seen far out at sea by some lonely fisherman off the American coast. That's what he meant."
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|The Captain of the Polestar
Arthur Conan Doyle
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