The steward said, No. The cabins, and berths, and bedding
were all to have a thorough cleaning that evening, and no passenger
could be allowed to come on board, before the morning. The sailor turned
round, and left the wharf. When he got into the street again, the boy
noticed for the first time, a man dressed like a respectable mechanic,
walking on the opposite side of the road, and apparently keeping
the sailor in view. The sailor stopped at an eating-house in the
neighbourhood, and went in. The boy--not being able to make up his mind,
at the moment--hung about among some other boys, staring at the good
things in the eating-house window. He noticed the mechanic waiting, as
he himself was waiting--but still on the opposite side of the street.
After a minute, a cab came by slowly, and stopped where the mechanic
was standing. The boy could only see plainly one person in the cab, who
leaned forward at the window to speak to the mechanic. He described that
person, Mr. Blake, without any prompting from me, as having a dark face,
like the face of an Indian."
It was plain, by this time, that Mr. Bruff and I had made another
mistake. The sailor with the black beard was clearly not a spy in the
service of the Indian conspiracy.
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