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"I shall go for a walk," said the girl. "Now that you know all about my concerns, will you please go?" "Walk?" repeated Fraser. "Walk? What, all night? You can't do it you don't know what it's like. Will you let me lend you some money? You can repay me as soon as you like." "No, thank you." "For my sake?" he suggested. Miss Tyrell raised her eyebrows. "I'm a bad walker," he explained.
Miss Tyrell gave a faint gasp and glanced anxiously at the door. Fraser hesitated a moment, and then rose to his feet. "If I hear anything more, may I come and tell you?" he asked. "Yes," said Poppy, "or write; perhaps it would be better to write; I might not be at home. Goodbye."
"In truth," says Walpole, "every step of this pretended discovery, as it stands in Lord Bacon, warns us to give no heed to it. Dighton and Tyrell agreed both in a tale, as the King gave out.
Fraser shook his head, and, the saucer being full, spooned the contents slowly back into the cup again. "Captain Tyrell leave any money?" he enquired. "Other way about," replied Flower. "I lent him, altogether, close on a hundred pounds. He was a man of very good position, but he took to drink and lost his ship and his self-respect, and all he left behind was his debts and his daughter."
I deserve more pity than blame." "You'll want all you can get," said Fraser, ominously. "And does the other girl know of any of the others?" "Of either of the others no," corrected Flower. "Of course, none of them know. You don't think I'm a fool, do you?" "Who is number three?" enquired the mate suddenly. "Poppy Tyrell," replied the other.
"He's one of the best fellows breathing," said the mate, warmly; "he saved my life once went overboard after me when we were doing over ten knots an hour, and was nearly drowned himself." "That was fine of him," said Miss Tyrell, eagerly. "He never told me anything about it, and I think that's rather fine too. I like brave men. Have you ever been overboard after anybody?"
His stock of conversation being exhausted he sat glancing uncomfortably round the littered room, painfully conscious that Mrs. Wheeler was regarding him with a glance that was at once hostile and impatient. While he was wondering whether Miss Tyrell had gone upstairs for a permanency, he heard her step on the stairs, and directly afterwards she appeared at the door with her hat and jacket on.
The little harbour with its motley collection of craft vanished; he heard the sharp, hoarse cries of command on the Golden Cloud, and saw the bridge slowly opening to give egress to the tug which had her in tow. He saw her shapely hull and tapering spars glide slowly down the river, while Poppy Tyrell, leaning against the side, took her last look at London.
"Good-bye, Mrs. Wheeler," he shouted, and, vaguely conscious that something was wrong somewhere, dashed off in pursuit. Poppy Tyrell, her face pale and her eyes burning, quickened her pace as she heard hurrying footsteps behind her. "I just wanted a few words with you, Miss Tyrell," said Fraser, somewhat breathlessly. "I I am going on business," said Poppy, in a quiet voice.
He could only agree with what Philip had told him. The case was hopeless. "I'll take him into the hospital if you like," he said. "He can have a small ward." "Nothing would induce him to come." "You know, he may die any minute, or else he may get another attack of pneumonia." Philip nodded. Dr. Tyrell made one or two suggestions, and promised to come again whenever Philip wanted him to.
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