After dinner, about half-past seven, when it was dark, I went out to walk on the port, keeping on the side of the houses. The quay was quite deserted; not a man of the Halbrane's crew was ashore. The ship's boats were alongside, rocking gently on the rising tide. I remained there until nine, walking up and down the edge in full view of the Halbrane. Gradually the mass of the ship became indistinct, there was no movement and no light. I returned to the inn, where I found Atkins smoking his pipe near the door.
"Atkins," said I, "it seems that Captain Len Guy does not care to come to your inn very often?"
"He sometimes comes on Sunday, and this is Saturday, Mr. Jeorling."
"You have not spoken to him?"
"Yes, I have."
Atkins was visibly embarrassed.
"You have informed him that a person of your acquaintance wished to take passage on the Halbrane?"
"Yes."
"What was his answer?"
"Not what either you or I would have wished, Mr. Jeorling."
"He refuses?"
"Well, yes, I suppose it was refusing; what he said was: 'My ship is not intended to carry passengers. I never have taken any, and I never intend to do so.'"
