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Anderson roused Ginnell, and they searched the house and its neighbourhood in vain. On going back into his own room, Anderson noticed an open drawer. He had placed his pocketbook there the night before, but without locking the drawer. It was gone, and in its place was a dirty scrap of paper. "Don't you try chivvying me, George, for you won't get any good of it. You let me alone, and I'll let you.
We know you and I reckon we know what to think about you. Gentlemen," he spoke with nasal deliberation, looking round the court, "I think that's so?" A shout of consent the shout of men deeply moved went up. Anderson, who had resumed his former attitude, appeared to take no notice, and the coroner resumed. "I will now call on Mrs. Ginnell to give her evidence."
Ginnell had been endeavouring during the past hour to make her patient clean and comfortable, and to tidy his room; but had been at last obliged to desist, owing to the mixture of ill-humour and bad language with which he assailed her. "Can I do anything for you?" Anderson inquired, standing beside him. "Get me out of this blasted hole as soon as possible! That's about all you can do!
It was towards midnight when he and the doctor emerged from the Ginnell's cabin. "Oh, I daresay we'll heal those cuts," said the doctor. "I've told Mrs. Ginnell what to do; but the old fellow's in a pretty cranky state. I doubt whether he'll trouble the world very long." Anderson started. With his eyes on the ground and his hands in his pockets, he inquired the reason for this opinion.
"Only this," replied Ginnell with a grin. "I've got back me revolver." Blood clapped his hand to his pocket. It was empty. "I picked your pocket of it," said Ginnell, producing the weapon, "two minits back; you fired three shots over the heads of them chows and there's three ca'tridges left in her. I can hit a dollar at twinty long paces.
The Heart of Ireland picked up a berth inside the junk, and as the rasp and rattle of the anchor chain came back in faint echoes from the cliff, a gong on the junk woke to life and began to snarl and roar its warning to the fellows on the wreck. "Down with the boat," cried Ginnell.
Meanwhile the situation in the cabin at Laggan appeared to be steadily improving. McEwen had abruptly ceased to be a rebellious and difficult patient. The doctor's orders had been obeyed; the leg had healed rapidly; and he no longer threatened or cajoled Mrs. Ginnell on the subject of liquor. As far as Anderson was concerned, he was generally sulky and uncommunicative.
Captain Blood was aft with his mate, Billy Harman, leaning on the rail and watching the foam boosting away from the stern and flowing off in creamy lines on the swirl of the wake. Ginnell, owner and captain of the Heart of Ireland, shanghaied and reduced to deck hand, was forward on the look-out, and one of the coolie crew was at the wheel.
The lanyard came away, and Harman, plunging his big hand in, produced it filled with British sovereigns. Not one of them moved or said a word for a moment, then Ginnell suddenly squatted down on the grating beside Harman, and, taking a sovereign between finger and thumb gingerly, as though he feared it might burn him, examined it with a laugh.
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