"I declare you throw me into an ague. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. Ramage admitted the force of that. " "Know anything about ships?" "This kind. “Not a bit of it. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. "I am very happy to be of service to you.
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