trap of this
sort?"

David staggered away from the table. He seemed to be laboring for
breath.

"'Arf a mo'. No need to yowl at me like that," he protested.

He fumbled with the lock of a corner cupboard, opened it, and drew
forth a decanter and some glasses. A tumbler crashed to the floor, and
the slight accident was another factor in clearing his wits. He swore
volubly.

"Same thing 'appened that Sunday afternoon," he said, apparently
obvious of the other men's presence. "My poor lass upset one, she did.
Wish she'd ha' flung it at my 'ed. . . . Did it say 'went down with
all 'ands,' mister?" he demanded suddenly of the reporter.

"Yes, Mr. Verity."

"Is it true?"

"I trust not, but Lloyd's agent--well, I needn't tell you that Lloyd's
is reliable. Was your niece on board? Is she the lady mentioned in
the cablegram?"

Then Bulmer woke up to the fact that there was a stranger present.

"'Ello!" he cried angrily. "Wot are you doin' ere? 'Oo are you? Be
off, instantly."

"I am not going until Mr. Verity hears what I have to ask him, and
answers, or not, as he feels disposed," was the firm reply.

"Leave 'im alone, Dickey. It's all right. Wot does it matter now 'oo
knows all there is to know? Just gimme a minnit."

Verity poured out some brandy. Man is but a creature of habit, and the
hospitable Lancastrian does not drink alone when there is company.

"'Ave a tiddly?" he inquired blandly.

Both Bulmer and the journalist believed that David was losing his
faculties. Never did shipowner behave more queerly when faced by a
disaster of like magnitude, involving, as did the _Andromeda's_ loss,
not only political issues of prime importance, but also the death of a
near relative. They refused the proffered refreshment, not without
some show of indignation. Verity swallowed a large dose of neat
spirit. He thought it would revive him, so, of course, the effect was
instantaneous. The same quantity of prussic acid could not have killed
him more rapidly than the brandy rallied his scattered forces, and, not
being a physiologist, he gave the brandy all the credit.

"Ah!" he said, smacking his lips with some of the old-time relish,
"that puts new life into one. An' now, let's get on with the knittin'.
I was a bit rattled when this young party steers in an' whacks 'is
cock-an'-bull yarn into me 'and. 'Oo ever 'eard of a respectable
British ship mixin' 'erself up with a South American revolution?