account, an' turned informer; but there's another tale he earned it
by some hanky-panky over in Lisbon, when the Royal Family there
packed up traps from the Brazils; and that's the story I favour, for
(between you and me) I've seen Portugal money in his possession."

So, indeed, had I. But Captain Coffin himself cut short the talk at
this point by appearing and announcing from the back doorstep that he
had a treat for me if I would come inside.

The treat consisted in a dish of tea--a luxury in those times, rarely
afforded even at Minden Cottage--and a pot of guava-jelly, with
Cornish cream and a loaf of white, wheaten bread. Such bread, I need
scarcely say, with wheat at 140 shillings a quarter, or thereabouts,
never graced the table of Copenhagen Academy. But the dulcet,
peculiar taste of guava-jelly is what I associate in memory with that
delectable meal; and to this day I cannot taste the flavour of guava
but I find myself back in Captain Coffin's sitting-room, cutting a
third slice from the wheaten loaf, with the corals and shells of
mother-of-pearl winking at me from among the china on the dresser,
and Captain Coffin seated opposite, with the silver rings in his
ears, and his eyes very white in the dusk and distinct within their
inflamed rims.

"Nothing like tea," he was saying--"nothing like tea to pull a man
round from the drink and cock him back like a trigger."

His right hand was at his breast as he spoke. It came out swiftly,
as upon a sudden impulse. His left hand closed upon it and partly
covered it for a moment; then the two hands spread apart and
disclosed an oilskin case.