"As soon as the first boat takes ground, you challenge: then count
five, and up goes the rocket. Eh?" The Captain swung round at the
sound of another footstep on the shingle. "Is that you, Clogg?
Man, but you made me jump!"
"Captain Pond! Oh, Captain Pond!" stammered the new-comer, who was
indeed no other than Mr. Clogg, senior lieutenant of the Diehards.
"Why have you left your post, sir? Don't stand there clinky-clanking
your sword on the pebbles--catch it up under your arm, sir: you're
making noise enough to scare the dead! Now, then, what have you to
report? Nothing wrong with the main body, I hope?"
"A man might call it ghosts"--Mr. Clogg in the darkness passed a
sleeve across his clammy brow--"A man might call it ghosts, Captain
Pond, and another might set it down to drink. But you know my
habits."
"Be quick, man! You've seen something? What is it?"
"Ah, what indeed? You may well ask it, sir: though not if you was to
put the Book into my hands at this moment and ask me to kiss it--"
"Clogg," interrupted the Captain, stepping close and gripping him by
the upper arm, "will you swear to me you have not been drinking?"
"Yes and no, Captain. That is, it began with my stepping up the
valley to the farm for a dollop of hot water--I'd a thimbleful of
schnapps in my flask here--and the night turning chilly, and me
remembering that Mrs. Nankivel up to the farm was keeping the kettle
on the boil, because she promised as much only last night, knowing my
stomach to be susceptible.
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