"
"But nobody knows exactly where--"
"Nasmyth does, and he'll tell me."
"He's been very close," said my uncle, and regarded me.
"He'll tell me all right, now he's smashed."
He thought. "I believe he will."
"George," he said, "if you pull this thing off--Once or twice before
you've stepped in--with that sort of Woosh of yours--"
He left the sentence unfinished.
"Give me that note-book," I said, "and tell me all you know. Where's the
ship? Where's Pollack? And where's that telegram from? If that quap's
to be got, I'll get it or bust. If you'll hold on here until I get back
with it."...
And so it was I jumped into the wildest adventure of my life.
I requisitioned my uncle's best car forthwith. I went down that night
to the place of despatch named on Nasmyth's telegram, Bampton S.O. Oxon,
routed him out with a little trouble from that centre, made things right
with him and got his explicit directions; and I was inspecting the Maud
Mary with young Pollack, his cousin and aide, the following afternoon.
She was rather a shock to me and not at all in my style, a beast of a
brig inured to the potato trade, and she reeked from end to end with the
faint, subtle smell of raw potatoes so that it prevailed even over the
temporary smell of new paint.
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