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Even if he is returning, go to the cleft and see." He shook his head, and waited until she had been hauled up the ship's side. But as her little moccasined feet cleared the bulwarks and Meggs himself leaned out to draw her inboard, he signed the oarsmen to thrust off again. Knowing the course, they made direct for the end of the sunken ledge. Blake had not returned, nor was he anywhere in sight.
Inside him, the wild-cat gave him a sudden claw, but it was a half-hearted effort, the effort of one who knows that he is beaten. Mr Meggs was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not even notice it. 'London, he was saying to himself. 'One of these physical culture places.... Comparatively young man.... Put myself in their hands.... Mild, regular exercise.... He limped to the bathroom.
Miss Pillenger walked down the sleepy street in the June sunshine, boiling, as Mr Meggs had done, with indignation. She, too, had been shaken to the core. It was her intention to fulfil her duty by posting the letters which had been entrusted to her, and then to quit for ever the service of one who, for six years a model employer, had at last forgotten himself and showed his true nature.
After twenty years an employer was going to court disaster by trying to flirt with her. Mr Meggs went on smiling. You cannot classify smiles. Nothing lends itself so much to a variety of interpretations as a smile. Mr Meggs thought he was smiling the sad, tender smile of a man who, knowing himself to be on the brink of the tomb, bids farewell to a faithful employee.
The steamer was gliding along, with slackened headway, close in under the headland, when a breath of air opened out the folds of the tattered white flag. Meggs had been watching it through his binoculars. He lowered the glasses, and remarked knowingly: "Thought so. That's no ship's canvas. It's linen or duck A woman's skirt ripped open." "What! Then at least one of the women got ashore!" "Aye.
And meanwhile a copy is just as good to the man who is coughing up to you and me and the rest of us for this, isn't it?" "My Gawd!" said Hoppy Meggs in fervent admiration, as he locked the trunk. "Yes," said Hunchback Joe and the snarl was back in his voice. "And now you see to it that you've got the rest of what you've got to do straight. It won't pay you to make any mistakes!
Miss Pillenger's view was that he was smiling like an abandoned old rip who ought to have been ashamed of himself. 'No, Miss Pillenger, said Mr Meggs, 'I shall not work this morning. I shall want you, if you will be so good, to post these six letters for me. Miss Pillenger took the letters. Mr Meggs surveyed her tenderly. 'Miss Pillenger, you have been with me a long time now.
But it's impossible Most resourceful man I ever knew. He must have won ashore with the others. And the women a British captain! It must be we'll find crew and all safe!" "Not on this coast," replied Meggs. "They'd have lost most their boats before the Impala struck." "In that event Deuce take it! will we never get there? If I had my motor-boat now!
Her official position was that of private secretary and typist to Mr Meggs.
He had certainly not forgotten Miss Pillenger. On his desk beside the letters lay a little pile of notes, amounting in all to five hundred pounds her legacy. Miss Pillenger was always business-like. She sat down in her chair, opened her notebook, moistened her pencil, and waited expectantly for Mr Meggs to clear his throat and begin work on the butterflies.
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