it was Falk, Falk himself who was in there, and, what's more, he had
Captain Hermann with him.

The return of the tug from the outer Roads was unexpected but possible,
for Falk had taken away the Diana at half-past five, and it was now two
o'clock. Schomberg wished me to observe that neither of these men would
spend a dollar on a tiffin, which they must have wanted. But by the time
I was ready to leave the dining-room Falk had gone. I heard the last of
his big boots on the planks of the verandah. Hermann was sitting quite
alone in the large, wooden room with the two lifeless billiard tables
shrouded in striped covers, mopping his face diligently. He wore
his best go-ashore clothes, a stiff collar, black coat, large white
waistcoat, grey trousers. A white cotton sunshade with a cane handle
reposed between his legs, his side whiskers were neatly brushed, his
chin had been freshly shaved; and he only distantly resembled the
dishevelled and terrified man in a snuffy night shirt and ignoble old
trousers I had seen in the morning hanging on to the wheel of the Diana.

He gave a start at my entrance, and addressed me at once in some
confusion, but with genuine eagerness. He was anxious to make it clear
he had nothing to do with what he called the "tam pizness" of the
morning. It was most inconvenient. He had reckoned upon another day up
in town to settle his bills and sign certain papers. There were also
some few stores to come, and sundry pieces of "my ironwork," as he
called it quaintly, landed for repairs, had been left behind. Now he
would have to hire a native boat to take all this out to the ship. It
would cost five or six dollars perhaps. He had had no warning from
Falk. Nothing. . . . He hit the table with his dumpy fist. . . . Der
verfluchte Kerl came in the morning like a "tam' ropper," making a great
noise, and took him away. His mate was not prepared, his ship was moored