that they took my old cabin trunk. But everything that mattered was in it.”
“Was it a very heavy one?” said Titty.
“It was, rather.”
“Were there ingots in it?”
Captain Flint laughed. “Afraid not,” he said. “What there was was a typewriter, a lot of diaries, and old logs, and the book I’ve been writing all the summer. If they’d taken anything else I wouldn’t have minded.”
Thoughts struggled in Titty’s mind, but she looked at Captain Flint more kindly than before.
“Was it a book you’d been writing yourself?” she asked.
“It was,” said Captain Flint.
“About your pirate past?”
“Well, that came into it.”
“Was it a very good book?”
“Come to think of it,” said Captain Flint, “perhaps it wasn’t. All the same, I’d like to get it back. You’ve no idea what a job it is writing a book. Keeping a log is bad enough.”
“I know,” said Titty.
“And now I might just as well not have written it.”
“And been much nicer all the summer,” said Nancy.
“Don’t rub it in,” said Captain Flint sadly.