“There!  Don’t do it again!” he said, and swung him round to face him.  “Sorry?  What?”

Then he saw that Toby was crying, and abruptly let him go, striding out through the dining-saloon and up the companion-way, swearing strange oaths in varied languages as he went.

He was openly rude to Larpent when the latter sauntered up for a word with him a little later, but Larpent, knowing him, merely hunched his shoulders as his custom was and sauntered away again.

When Saltash went down to dress for dinner, he found his clothes laid out as usual, but no Toby in attendance.  His first impulse was to look for him, but he checked it and dressed in solitude.  This thing must be conducted in the approved judicial manner at all costs.

Larpent was stolidly awaiting him in the saloon, and they sat down together.  Usually Toby stood behind his master’s chair, and the vacant place oppressed Saltash.  He talked jerkily, with uneasy intervals of silence.

Larpent talked not at all beyond the demands of ordinary courtesy.  He ate well, drank sparingly, and when not listening to Saltash’s somewhat spasmodic conversation appeared immersed in thought.  When the meal was over, he refused coffee, and rose to go on deck.

Then, abruptly, Saltash stayed him.  “Larpent, wait a minute—­unless you’re in a hurry!  Have a cigar with me!”

Larpent paused, looking across at the dark, restless face with the air of a man making a minute calculation.  “Shall we smoke on deck, my lord?” he said at length.

Saltash sprang up as though he moved on wires.  “Yes, all right.  Get the cigars, Murray!” he commanded the steward; and to Larpent as the man went to obey, “That’s decent of you.  Thought you were going to refuse.  I was damned offensive a while back.  Accept my apologies!  Fact is—­I’m fed up with this show.  Sorry if I disappoint you, but I’m going home.”

“You never disappoint me, my lord,” said Larpent, with his enigmatical smile.

Saltash gave him a keen look and uttered a laugh that was also not without its edge.  “I like you, Larpent,” he said.  “You always tell the truth.  Well, let’s go!  We shan’t make Jamaica this trip, but it doesn’t matter.  In any case, it’s a shame to miss the spring in England.”

“Or the Spring Meetings?” suggested Larpent, as he chose his cigar.

“Quite so,” said Saltash, almost with relief.  “My old trainer—­the man who bought my racing-stud—­always looks for me about now.  You ought to meet him by the way.  He is another speaker of cruel truths.”

He thrust a hand through his captain’s arm as they left the saloon, and they went on deck together.  Though Larpent never made any sign of resentment, yet was Saltash never wholly at his ease when he knew that he had taxed his forbearance until he had made amends.  He took the trouble to make himself unusually agreeable as they settled down to their smoke.