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Updated: June 28, 2025
We had now a very good chart before us of the river we were in, which Captain Cloete had forthwith copied on paper, to the infinite delight of the designer. His success seemed to sharpen his wits; and taking another bit of rope which was given to him, he knelt down some way from the first, and twisted it about to form a river.
Harry stands at the head of the stairs, and, when she sees only these two coming up, flings her arms above her head and runs into her room. Nobody had dared tell her, but not seeing her husband was enough. Cloete hears an awful shriek. . . Go to her, he says to George. "While he's alone in the private parlour Cloete drinks a glass of brandy and thinks it all out.
It would be an awful blow after all the agonies I have gone through in my mind, since you first spoke to me, if she were to be got off and and all this temptation to begin over again. . . For we had nothing to do with this; had we? "Of course not, says Cloete. Wasn't your brother himself in charge?
"I feel as if I were going mad myself, says Cloete, suddenly, and the coxswain begs him for God's sake to pull himself together, and drags him away from the cabin. They had to leave the body, and as it was they were just in time before a furious squall came on. Cloete is dragged into the life-boat and the coxswain tumbles in. Haul away on the grapnel, he shouts; the captain has shot himself. . .
Gives his partner to understand that his brother has half a mind to try a spell on shore, and so on. Cloete waits, gnawing his fingers; so anxious. Cloete really had found a man for the job. Believe it or not, he had found him inside the very boarding-house he lodged in somewhere about Tottenham Court Road.
The night before he sailed he met him wandering about the quays, and took him home for a drink. "Funny chap, Cloete. We sat all night drinking grogs, till it was time for him to go on board." It was then that Cloete, unembittered but weary, told him this story, with that utterly unconscious frankness of a patent-medicine man stranger to all moral standards.
I am little late. What about a chop at the Cheshire, now? . . . Right you are, old man. . . And off they go to lunch together. Cloete has nothing to eat that day. "George feels a new man for a time; but all of a sudden that fellow Stafford begins to hang about the street, in sight of the house door. The first time George sees him he thinks he made a mistake.
Captain Cloete, however, did not like to lose so favourable an opportunity of visiting on amicable terms these singular people, and therefore resolved to anchor off the village for the night, and to carry out charges to their native place on the following day. The wind continuing fair, though light, we slowly glided up the stream, the flood-tide aiding us.
Look here, Cloete, since you are here, and such a plucky one do something for me. . . He tells him then that down in his cabin aft in a certain drawer there is a bundle of important papers and some sixty sovereigns in a small canvas bag. Asks Cloete to go and get these things out.
Tugs at it with both hands without saying anything. Cloete gives a push to the table which nearly sends the fellow off his chair, tumbling inside the fender; so that he has got to catch hold of it to save himself. . . "You know the sort of man I am, Cloete says, fiercely. I've got to a point that I don't care what happens to me. I would shoot you now for tuppence.
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