But the visit was a fruitless one. Major Pratt was in bed with an attack
of gout, so ill and so "crusty" that nothing could be got out of him
excepting a few bad words and as many groans. Mr. Hamlyn then questioned
Saul--of whom he used to see a good deal in India, for he had been the
Major's servant for years and years.
"Do you happen to know, Saul, whether the Major wanted me for anything
in particular? He asked me to call here this morning."
Saul began to consider. He was a tall, thin, cautious, slow-speaking
man, honest as the day, and very much attached to his master.
"Well, sir, he got a letter yesterday morning that seemed to put him
out, for I found him swearing over it. And he said he'd like you to see
it."
"Who was the letter from? What was it about?"
"It looked like Miss Caroline's writing, sir, and the postmark was
Essex. As to what it was about--well, the Major didn't directly tell me,
but I gathered that it might be about--"
"About what?" questioned Mr Hamlyn, for the man had come to a dead
standstill. "Speak out, Saul."
"Then, sir," said Saul, slowly rubbing the top of his head, and the few
grey hairs left on it, "I thought--as you tell me to speak--it must be
something concerning that ship you know of; she that went down on her
voyage home, Mr. Philip."
"The _Clipper of the Seas_?"
"Just so, sir; the _Clipper of the Seas_. I thought it by this," added
Saul: "that pretty nigh all day afterwards he talked of nothing but that
ship, asking me if I should suppose it possible that the ship had not
gone down and every soul on board, leastways of her passengers, with
her.
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