“If you will,” Dowd said, and remained himself to talk pleasantly to the American girl.
After a time another man in uniform approached the spot. He was not a young man; yet he was smooth-faced, ruddy, and had a smart way about him. But his countenance was lined and there was a small scar just below his eye on one cheek.
“Mr. Dykman, Miss Fielding,” Dowd said. “Is Mr. Dykman the officer whom you saw, Miss Fielding?”
Dykman bowed with a military manner. Ruth eyed him quietly. He did not look like an Englishman, that was sure.
“This is the officer I saw this morning,” she said, confidently. She felt that she could not be mistaken, although she had not noted his manner and countenance so directly at the time indicated. He looked surprised but said nothing in rejoinder, glancing at Mr. Dowd, instead, for an explanation.
“We are trying,” said the first officer, “to identify a man—one of the crew—who was out of place on the deck here this morning during your watch, Mr. Dykman. About what time was it, Miss Fielding?”
“The sun was just coming up,” she said, watching Dykman’s face.
“There were various members of the deck watch here then, sir,” Dykman said respectfully. “We were washing decks.”
“You came past here,” Ruth said quietly, “and admonished the man for standing here. You told him he had no business aft.”
The man wagged his head slowly and showed no remembrance of the incident by his expression of countenance. His eyes, she saw, were hard, and round, and blue.