“Well, are you satisfied?” snapped the thin voice of Captain Hastings.
“Not altogether,” Ruth bravely retorted. “It might be that the man was not a stoker. I only thought so because the officer who interrupted the conversation I overheard seemed to consider him a stoker. He sent the man off that part of the deck.”
“What officer?” demanded the captain, doubtfully. “An officer of the ship? One of my officers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ha, you want to examine my officers, then, I presume?”
“Not at all,” Ruth said coldly. “I am not taking any pleasure in this investigation, I assure you.”
“It will be easy enough to find the officer whom Miss Fielding refers to,” said Mr. Dowd, interposing before Captain Hastings could speak again. “I know who was on duty at that hour this morning. It will be easily discovered who the officer is. And if he remembers the man on deck——”
“Ah—yes—if he does,” said Captain Hastings in his very nastiest way.
Ruth’s cheeks flamed again. Mr. Dowd placed a gentle hand upon her sleeve.
“Never mind that oaf,” he whispered. “He doesn’t know how to behave himself. How he ever got command of a ship like this—well, it shows to what straits we have come in this wartime. Do you mind meeting me later abaft the stacks on deck? I will bring the men, one of whom I think may be the chap we are looking for. Of course he will remember if he drove a seaman or a stoker off the after deck this morning.”