"
Mr. Tredgold said "Good-bye," and with a furtive glance at the window
above departed. Miss Drewitt, opening the door, looked round an empty
room. Then the kitchen door opened and the face of Mr. Tasker, full of
concern, appeared.
"Did you get wet, miss?" he inquired.
Miss Drewitt ignored the question. "Where is Captain Bowers?" she asked,
in a clear, penetrating voice.
The face of Mr. Tasker fell. "He's gone to bed with a headache, miss,"
he replied.
"Headache?" repeated the astonished Miss Drewitt. "When did he go?"
"About 'arf an hour ago," said Mr. Tasker; "just after the storm. I
suppose that's what caused it, though it seems funny, considering what a
lot he must ha' seen at sea. He said he'd go straight to bed and try and
sleep it off. And I was to ask you to please not to make a noise."
Miss Drewitt swept past him and mounted the stairs. At the captain's
door she paused, but the loud snoring of a determined man made her
resolve to postpone her demands for an explanation to a more fitting
opportunity. Tired, wet, and angry she gained her own room, and threw
herself thoughtlessly into that famous old Chippendale chair which, in
accordance with Mr.
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