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Updated: June 18, 2025
Cleggett, in 1925, was the father of four boys named D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis Cleggett; and the owner of the Claiborne estates. He is now immensely wealthy. It never would have occurred to him, perhaps, to attempt to increase his modest fortune of $500,000 by speculating on the Stock Exchange, had it not been for a fortunate meeting with a barber in Nassau Street.
"Why," said Loge, with an assumption of great frankness, "between you and me I don't care a damn about your boat. I think we understand each other. I'm buying her to get what's on her." "Suppose I sell you what's on her for $10,000 and keep the ship," said Cleggett, wondering what WAS on the Jasper B. "Agreed," said Loge.
It had taken the old man so long to answer that Cleggett had forgotten his own question, and the shrill fierceness of the voice was disconcerting. He regarded Cleggett contemptuously, spat on the deck, and then demanded truculently: "D'ye want to buy any seed potatoes?" "Why er, no," said Cleggett.
He drove them, still lashing out at each other with their bare feet, into the water again, and after a more prolonged ducking whipped them, at a plunging gallop, upon the Annabel Lee, where they disappeared from Cleggett's view. While Cleggett was still wondering what significance could underlie this unusual form of matutinal exercise, Dr. Farnsworth came out of the forecastle and beckoned to him.
"I awake in a boatyard after having gone to sleep in a dismantled barge." "Barge!" The word "barge" struck Cleggett unexpectedly; he was not aware that he had given a start and frowned. "Mercy!" exclaimed Lady Agatha, "how the dear man glares! What should I call it? Scow?" "Scow?" said Cleggett.
"Oh, I beg your pardon. You mean the old hulk over yonder in the canal?" "Over yonder in the canal," said Cleggett, without relaxing his vigilance. "You've been frightened over there?" asked Loge, showing his teeth in a grin. "No," said Cleggett. "I'm not easily frightened."
"Well?" he said, shortly. He was a man for whom Cleggett had long felt a secret antipathy. The man was, in short, the petty tyrant of Cleggett's little world. "Can you spare me a couple of minutes, Mr. Wharton?" said Cleggett. But he did not say it with the air of a person who really sues for a hearing. "Yes, yes go on." Mr. Wharton, who had risen from his chair, sat down again.
"Something tells me," said Cleggett seriously, "that this intrusion of armed men is only a prelude. I have little doubt of the hostility of Morris's; I am sure that the men who hid in the hold are spies from Morris's. I do not yet know the motive for this hostility. But the Jasper B. is in the midst of dangers and mysteries. There is before us an affair of some magnitude.
A bullet ripped its way through the bulwark, perforated the zinc bucket, struck the gun which Lady Agatha was loading and knocked it from her hands. "Go to the cabin yourself!" she shouted in Cleggett's ear. "As for me, I like it!" "I tell you," shouted Cleggett, "I won't have you here I won't have you killed!" He rose to his feet, and attempted to draw her out of danger.
And then there was the tenth Earl of Claiborne's signet ring on the dead hand. Beyond the fact that it was a circumstance which connected his fortunes with those of Lady Agatha, he could make nothing at all of the signet ring. What, he asked himself again and again, was the connection of the criminal gang at Morris's with the proudest Earl in England? Loge himself was a puzzle to Cleggett.
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