His hand rested for a moment by the ink-pot around which
his fingers felt, like a blind man's softly making sure of its
outline and shape. He withdrew it to his tunic-pocket, pulled out
pipe and tobacco-pouch and began to fill. . . .
At this point in came young Yarrell-Smith. Young Yarrell-Smith wore
a useful cloak--French cavalry pattern--of black mackintosh, with a
hood. It dripped and shone in the lamplight.
"Beastly night," he announced to the company in general and turned to
report to Otway, who had sat up alert on the instant.
"Yes," quoted Otway,
"'Thou comest from thy voyage--
Yes, the spray is on thy cloak and hair.'"
That's Matthew Arnold, if the information conveys anything to you.
Everything quiet?"
"Quite quiet, sir, for the last twenty minutes; and the Captain just
come in and unloading. No accidents, though they very nearly met
their match, five hundred yards down the road."
"We heard," said Polkinghorne.
"I tucked the Infant into his little O.P., and left him comfy.
He won't see anything there to-night.
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