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Updated: May 5, 2025
Perhaps I had better tell you. I was talking about Tita Raymond and yourself." Motley put his right hand under his pyjama jacket, but Taplin sprang forward, seized his wrist in a grip of iron, and drew him aside. "The man who draws a pistol in my house, Mr Motley, does a foolish thing," he said, in quiet, contemptuous tones, as he threw the supercargo's revolver into a corner.
Still glaring angrily at Riedermann and Motley, Warren got down slowly from the table. Then we bade Taplin and Nerida good-bye and went aboard. At daylight we saw Taplin and his wife go off in the ALIDA'S boat.
Then she sank on a seat and sobbed violently. We waited till she regained her composure somewhat, and then I said: "Nerida, where is Taplin?" "Dead," she said in a voice scarce above a whisper; "only us two are left I and little Teresa." Packenham held out his hands to the child.
"Let us go ashore and give him and his pretty wife a hand to pack up." Taplin was the name of the only other white trader on Funafuti besides old Tom Humphreys, our own man. He had been two years on the island, and was trading in opposition to our trader, as agent for a foreign house our owners were Sydney people but his firm's unscrupulous method of doing business had disgusted him.
There was that big jewel job in Piccadilly, Taplin and Horne's; I don't mind telling you that we've not got the ghost of a clue. Then there's this anarchist affair. We're all in the dark there, too." "But what about the cipher?" asked Thorndyke. "Oh, hang the cipher!" exclaimed the detective irritably. "This Professor Poppelbaum may be a very learned man, but he doesn't help us much.
"Well, Taplin, here's your schooner at last," said old Tom, as we shook hands and seated ourselves in the comfortable, pleasant-looking room. "I see you're getting ready to go." Taplin was a man of about thirty or so, with a quiet, impassive face, and dark, deep-set eyes that gave to his features a somewhat gloomy look, except when he smiled, which was not often.
Perhaps it's because it's not pleasant to see white men landing at a quiet island like this with revolvers slung to their waists under their pyjamas; looks a bit too much like Bully Hayes' style for me," and then his tone of cool banter suddenly changed to that of studied insolence. "I say, Motley, I was talking about you just now to Taplin AND Nerida. Do you want to know what I was saying?
"L ," said Warren, "can't we do something for Taplin ourselves? Isn't there a station anywhere about Tonga or Wallis Island that would suit him?" "Would he come, Warren? He or, rather, that pretty wife of his seems bent upon going away in the schooner to the Carolines." "Aye," said the skipper, "that's it. If it were any other vessel I wouldn't care."
After putting her little hand in ours, and greeting us in the Funafuti dialect, she went over to Taplin, and touching his arm, pointed out the schooner that was now only a mile or so away, and a smile parted her lips, and the star-like eyes glowed and filled with a tender light. I felt Captain Warren touch my arm as he rose and went outside. I followed.
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