But presently I tired of it, and climbed the steps to read the bills describing the people who had been found drowned. There were eleven of the bills altogether, fresh and clean; and fragments of innumerable others, older and dirtier, were round about them. Ten men and one woman had been picked up, it would seem, and all within a week or two, as I learned when I had spelled out the dates. I pored at these bills till I had read them through, being horribly fascinated by the personal marks and peculiarities so baldly set forth; the scars, the tattoo marks, the colour of the dead eyes; the clothes and boots and the contents of the pockets--though indeed most of the pockets would seem to have been empty. The woman--they guessed her age at twenty-two--wore one earring; and I entangled myself in conjectures as to what had become of the other. I was disturbed by a shout from the causeway. I looked and saw Bill Stagg in his boat. "Is your gran'father there?" shouted Bill Stagg. "Tell him they've found his boat." This was joyful news, and I rushed to carry it. "They've found our boat, Grandfather Nat," I cried. "Bill Stagg says so!" Grandfather Nat was busy in the bar, and he received the information with calmness. "Ah," he said, "I knew it 'ud turn up somewhere. Bill Stagg there?" And he came out leisurely in his shirt sleeves, and stood at the head of the stairs. "P'lice galley found your boat, cap'en," Bill Stagg reported. "You'll have to go up to the float for it." "Right. Know where it was?" "Up agin Elephant stairs"--Bill Stagg pointed across the river--"turned adrift and jammed among the lighters." Grandfather Nat nodded serenely. Bill Stagg nodded in reply, shoved off from the causeway and went about his business. The hawser was still foul among the lighters out in the stream, and a man had pulled over in a boat to help. I had told grandfather of the difficulty, and how long it had baffled the lightermen, and was asking the third of a string of questions about it all, when there was a step behind, and a voice: "Good mornin', Cap'en Nat." My grandfather turned quickly. "Mr. Viney!" he said. "Well.... Good mornin'." I turned also, and I was not prepossessed by Mr. Viney. His face--a face no doubt originally pale and pasty, but too long sun-burned to revert to anything but yellow in these later years of shore-life--his yellow face was ever stretched in an uneasy grin, a grin that might mean either propitiation or malice, and remained the same for both. He had the watery eyes and the goatee beard that were not uncommon among seamen, and in total I thought he much resembled one of those same hang-dog fellows that stood at corners and leaned on posts in the neighbourhood, making a mysterious living out of sailors; one of them, that is to say, in a superior suit of clothes that seemed too good for him. I suppose he may have been an inch taller than Grandfather Nat; but in the contrast between them he seemed very small and mean.