“Aha!” I said.  “The few hundred pounds.”

“And that tongue of his,” he growled.  “Don’t forget that tongue.  Some of his tales must have opened George Dunbar’s eyes a bit as to what business means.”

“A plausible fellow,” I suggested.

“H’m!  You must have it in your own way—­of course.  Well.  Partner.  George Dunbar puts his top-hat on and tells me to wait a moment. . .  George always looked as though he were making a few thousands a year—­a city swell. . .  Come along, old man!  And he and Captain Harry go out together—­some business with a solicitor round the corner.  Captain Harry, when he was in England, used to turn up in his brother’s office regularly about twelve.  Sat in a corner like a good boy, reading the paper and smoking his pipe.  So they go out. . .  Model brothers, says Cloete—­two love-birds—­I am looking after the tinned-fruit side of this cozy little show. . .  Gives me that sort of talk.  Then by-and-by:  What sort of old thing is that Sagamore?  Finest ship out—­eh?  I dare say all ships are fine to you.  You live by them.  I tell you what; I would just as soon put my money into an old stocking.  Sooner!”

He drew a breath, and I noticed his hand, lying loosely on the table, close slowly into a fist.  In that immovable man it was startling, ominous, like the famed nod of the Commander.

“So, already at that time—­note—­already,” he growled.

“But hold on,” I interrupted.  “The Sagamore belonged to Mundy and Rogers, I’ve been told.”

He snorted contemptuously.  “Damn boatmen—­know no better.  Flew the firm’s house-flag.  That’s another thing.  Favour.  It was like this:  When old man Dunbar died, Captain Harry was already in command with the firm.  George chucked the bank he was clerking in--to go on his own with what there was to share after the old chap.  George was a smart man.  Started warehousing; then two or three things at a time:  wood-pulp, preserved-fruit trade, and so on.  And Captain Harry let him have his share to work with. . .  I am provided for in my ship, he says. . .  But by-and-by Mundy and Rogers begin to sell out to foreigners all their ships—­go into steam right away.  Captain Harry gets very upset—­lose command, part with the ship he was fond of—­very wretched.  Just then, so it happened, the brothers came in for some money—­an old woman died or something.  Quite a tidy bit.  Then young George says:  There’s enough between us two to buy the Sagamore with. . .  But you’ll need more money for your business, cries Captain Harry—­and the other laughs at him:  My business is going on all right.  Why, I can go out and make a handful of sovereigns while you are trying to get your pipe to draw, old man. . .  Mundy and Rogers very friendly about it:  Certainly, Captain.  And we will manage her for you, if you like, as if she were still our own. . .  Why, with a connection like that it was good investment to buy that ship.  Good!  Aye, at the time.”