Dialstone Lane, Complete. William Wymark Jacobs

      "I thought I should find you here," he said, pleasantly, to Edward Tredgold.

      "Why?" demanded Mr. Tredgold, with what Mr. Chalk thought unnecessary abruptness.

      "Well—well, because you generally are here, I suppose," he said, somewhat taken aback.

      Mr. Tredgold favoured him with a scowl, and a somewhat uncomfortable silence ensued.

      "Stobell wanted to see you again," said Mr. Chalk, turning to the captain. "He's done nothing but talk about you ever since he was here last."

      Captain Bowers said he was glad to see him; Mr. Stobell returned the courtesy with an odd noise in his throat and a strange glare at Mr. Chalk.

      "I met him to-night," continued that gentleman, "and nothing would do for him but to come on here."

      It was evident from the laboured respiration of the ardent Mr. Stobell, coupled with a word or two which had filtered through the window, that the ingenious Mr. Chalk was using him as a stalking-horse. From the fact that Mr. Stobell made no denial it was none the less evident, despite the growing blackness of his appearance, that he was a party to the arrangement. The captain began to see the reason.

      "It's all about that island," explained Mr. Chalk; "he can talk of nothing else."

      The captain suppressed a groan, and Mr. Tredgold endeavoured, but without success, to exchange smiles with Miss Drewitt.

      "Aye, aye," said the captain, desperately.

      "He's as eager as a child that's going to its first pantomime," continued Mr. Chalk.

      Mr. Stobell's appearance was so alarming that he broke off and eyed him with growing uneasiness.

      "You were talking about a pantomime," said Mr. Tredgold, after a long pause.

      Mr. Chalk cast an imploring glance at Mr. Stobell to remind him of their compact, and resumed.

      "Talks of nothing else," he said, watching his friend, "and can't sleep for thinking of it."

      "That's bad," said Mr. Tredgold, sympathetically. "Has he tried shutting his eyes and counting sheep jumping over a stile?"

      "No, he ain't," said Mr. Stobell, exploding suddenly, and turning a threatening glance on the speaker. "And what's more," he added, in more ordinary tones, "he ain't going to."

      "We—we've been thinking of that trip again," interposed Mr. Chalk, hurriedly. "The more Stobell thinks of it the more he likes it. You know what you said the last time we were here?"

      The captain wrinkled his brows and looked at him inquiringly.