The old lady’s face was stiff with anger. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. She looked steadfastly out. ‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. ‘Don’t tell me. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. But we're neglecting the punch all this time. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang.
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