He flashed a swift look at his
questioner--a look of mingled contempt and derision, spiced with a dash
of sneering humour. And he found his tongue.
"I'll!" he snorted. "I'll! She asks if I'm ill--me, a respectable man
what's maltreated and robbed before his own eyes by them as ought to fall
in humble gratitude at his feet! I'll!--aye, ill with something that's
worse nor any bodily aches and pains--let me tell you that! But not done
for, neither!"
"He's all right," said Copplestone. "That's a flash of his old spirit.
You're all right, Chatfield, aren't you? And who's robbed and maltreated
you--and how and when--especially when--did you come here?"
Chatfield looked up at his old assailant with a glare of dislike.
"You keep your tongue to yourself, young feller!" he growled. "I
shouldn't never ha' been here at all if it hadn't been for the likes of
you--a pokin' your nose where it isn't wanted. It's 'cause o' you three
comin' aboard o' that there yacht last night as I am here--a castaway!"
"Well, we're castaways, too, Mr. Chatfield," said Audrey. "And we can't
help believing that it's all your naughty conduct that's made us so. Why
don't you tell the truth?"
Chatfield uttered a few grumpy and inarticulate sounds.
"It'll be a bad day for more than one when I do that--as I will," he
muttered presently. "Oh aye, I '11 tell the truth--when it suits me! But
I'll be out o' this first.
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