When we had risen from the table he led me aside and directed my attention to a short, stout man with a bristly growth of close-cropped black hair, a low forehead and shaggy eyebrows, who was leaning lazily against the railing of the stairway.
"Let us avoid him," he whispered.

"I do not like his looks." What can this mean?
I asked myself, as we all proceeded to the deck.
Perhaps he was the man the detective was looking for.
It was a beautiful sunlit afternoon, and the vessel rode steadily in a sea that was growing quiet under the dying impulse that the winds had left behind them.

We drew our chairs together on the deck near the stern of the vessel, and had settled down for a quiet chat among ourselves when we were unexpectedly joined by Mr.Murmurtot.
"Delighted, I'm sure!" he exclaimed, with the same inimitable drawl I had noted on the occasion of our first meeting.

I soon observed that the artful little gentleman was master of an elaborate system of exclamations by which he encouraged one to talk freely without saying anything himself.
In response to my assertion that we had been exceedingly busy getting ready for the trip he said simply: "Indeed!" It was a very unusual burst of confidence in which he was moved to express his views with any greater freedom.

When the remark which preceded it was evidently expected to meet with Mr.Murmurtot's concurrence, then he would say, "Yes, indeed!" If the remark were one to which this response would be inappropriate he often went to the extent of observing, "I dare say!" seemingly ventured after careful consideration of the chances for and against the proposition which provoked it.
"My dear sir, I do not agree with you," he would always say when he felt compelled to differ with me.