CHAPTER XII
[THE HERO, LIKE ALL HEROES, FINDS HIMSELF IN A FOG]
At eight o'clock the next morning Charnock was crushing the remainder of his clothes into a portmanteau. A couple of corded trunks stood ready for the porters, while the manager of the line sat in the window overlooking Algeciras Bay, and gave him gratuitous advice as to totally different and very superior methods of packing.
The manager suddenly rose to his feet.
"Here's the P. and O. coming into the bay," he said. "Man, but you have very little time. I'm thinking you'll miss it."
Charnock raised a flushed face from his portmanteau, and so wasted a few seconds. He made no effort to catch them up.
"I'm thinking, too, you would not be very sorry to miss it," continued the manager, sagely. "Though what charms you can discover in Algeciras, it's beyond my powers to comprehend."
Charnock did not controvert or explain the manager's supposition. He continued to pack, but perhaps a trifle more slowly than before.
"You have got my address, Macdonald?" he said. "You won't lose it, will you?"
He shut up the portmanteau and knelt upon it.