“Have you spoken to the captain—to any of the officers?”
“To nobody but you,” said Ruth gravely. “I—I shrink from making anybody unnecessary trouble. Of course, there may be nothing wrong in what I overheard.”
“But a passenger talking German with a stoker! What were they saying?”
“They appeared to be quarreling.”
“Quarreling! Who was the passenger? Is he here at table?” the Red Cross man asked quickly.
“Do you think I ought to point him out?” Ruth asked slowly. “If it is really serious—and I asked for your opinion, you know—wouldn’t it be better if I spoke to the captain or the first officer about it?”
“Perhaps you are right. If it was a merely harmless incident you observed it would not be right to discuss it promiscuously,” said the man, smiling. “Don’t tell me who he is, but I do advise your speaking to Mr. Dowd.”
Mr. Dowd was the first officer, and he presided at the table on this morning as it was now the captain’s watch below. Ruth had been careful to say nothing which would lead her friend to suspect that the passenger she mentioned was a woman.
“Yes,” went on the Red Cross officer firmly, “you speak to Mr. Dowd.”
But Ruth did not wish to do that in a way that might attract the attention of any suspicious person. The woman, Irma Lentz, had mentioned another person who seemed to be one of the queer folks. “Boldig.” Who Boldig was the girl of the Red Mill had no idea. He might be passenger, officer, or one of the crew. She had glanced through the purser’s list and knew that there was no passenger using that name on the Admiral Pekhard.