A French sergeant of police stepped in, curled his moustache fiercely, and made a few notes in a book.
“You will all accompany me to the police-station for inquiries on arrival in the harbour.”
The major cackled softly.
“Why? The ladies would try a little dose of my Eastern friend. I told them beginners should go slow.”
“Il n'y' a pas d'explications!” snapped the Frenchman, seating himself between the two men, while Watts lounged against the door. Christine opened her eyes drowsily, and closed them after a look of infinite relief as she saw Carter's face bending over her. Another sip or two, and she was able to stagger outside, and supported by Carter and the doctor walk up and down in the fresh air.
“Where's Mrs. Erskine—Mrs. Erskine's in danger,” she suddenly babbled after her second cup. “And I thought I saw Mr. Pointer——”
“Here I am, Miss Christine,” came the cheery answer as the Chief Inspector relieved the doctor, who returned to the cabin to look after the other two ladies.
“Oh, Mr. Pointer!” Christine clutched the cup he held out to her dizzily.
“I—there's a letter Mrs. Erskine has which Rob never wrote—someone's deceived her all these years. He never wrote any of them.” She tried to speak coherently. Pointer pressed her arm soothingly.
“I know. Don't you worry, Miss West. You let Carter take you home and sleep this off till he calls for you in the morning.”