I suppose I haven't misunderstood you.

You wish me to look after you a bit, says he.
The other hangs on him rather limp, but gives a nasty little laugh: You had better, he mumbles; but mind, no tricks; no tricks, Mr.Cloete; we are on land now.
"There's a police office within fifty yards from here, says Cloete.

He turns into a little public house, pushes Stafford along the passage.

The landlord runs out of the bar.

.