"Yes. But considering what we happened to hear just now I think you
ought to do it."

"Ought to do it?" I sat up bewildered. "Do what?"

Captain Giles confronted me very much surprised.

"Why! Do what I have been advising you to try. You go and ask the
Steward what was there in that letter from the Harbour Office. Ask him
straight out."

I remained speechless for a time. Here was something unexpected
and original enough to be altogether incomprehensible. I murmured,
astounded:

"But I thought it was Hamilton that you . . ."

"Exactly. Don't you let him. You do what I tell you. You tackle that
Steward. You'll make him jump, I bet," insisted Captain Giles, waving
his smouldering pipe impressively at me. Then he took three rapid puffs
at it.

His aspect of triumphant acuteness was indescribable. Yet the man
remained a strangely sympathetic creature. Benevolence radiated from
him ridiculously, mildly, impressively. It was irritating, too. But I
pointed out coldly, as one who deals with the incomprehensible, that I
didn't see any reason to expose myself to a snub from the fellow. He
was a very unsatisfactory steward and a miserable wretch besides, but I
would just as soon think of tweaking his nose.