"How did the trouble start?"
The big man shrugged his shoulders. "It didn't start. Some of the outfit
thought they were looking for a row, but they balked on the job when
Trelawney got his." Turning to Mrs. Mallory, he changed the subject
abruptly. "Did you have a good time down the river?"
Gordon, as he watched from a little distance, corrected earlier
impressions. This man had passed the thirties. Salt and pepper sprinkled
the temples of his strong, lean head. He had the thick neck and solid
trunk of middle life, but he carried himself so superbly that his whole
bearing denied that years could touch his splendid physique. The suit he
wore was a wrinkled corduroy, with trouser legs thrust into high-laced
boots. An outdoor tan had been painted upon his face and neck, from the
point where the soft flannel shirt fell away to show the fine slope of
the throat line to the shoulders.
Strong had stepped to the wharf to talk with an old acquaintance, but
when the boat threw out a warning signal he made a hurried good-bye and
came on board. He rejoined Elliot.
"Well, what d'you think of him? Was I right?"
The young man had already guessed who this imperious stranger was.
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