Morgan replied grimly: "We will not. Give it up, I mean. But a couple of quick ones in the bar might fortify us before we comb this boat from stem to stern… Why's the place so quiet, anyway?" He peered round. "They're all at lunch, that's it! We've missed lunch, and I didn't even hear the bugle. Never mind; we can get a sandwich in the bar. Come on. This thing has got to be thrashed out. Girl, that emerald's turning up puts the absolute lid on it!… What do you suppose could have happened?"
"Oh, drat the emerald!" she sniffed, with some pettishness. "Who cares about their nasty old emerald, anyway?
We'll find out about this girl, if you like. But, honestly, Hank, I'm beginning to think we must be wrong, after all. H'm! I'll bet she was a hussy, anyway… "
"She was calling Curt's name," her companion reminded her. He was determined not to lose his last ally. "She knew something that concerned him, don't you see? So if you want to help him, she'll be your first concern. It probably concerns the film; remember that my wench! Besides, have you forgotten another thing? Curt promised that chap Woodcock — definitely gave him his word — that he'd demonstrate by to-day there'd been a murder committed, or else force a bug-powder endorsement out of old Warpus."
She put her hand to her forehead. "Oh, I say, but I'd forgotten all about that awful little man! Oh, Hank, this is dreadful! And when I think of my poor Curt languishing behind prison bars, sitting there forlornly with his poor head in his hands…" A sob caught her throat; she choked, and the tears overflowed here eyes. "Oh, it's awful, awful, awful!"
"Well, my God! don't cry about it!" said Morgan, waving his arms desperately. He peered round to make sure there was nobody in sight. "Look here. I didn't know you felt like that about it. Listen! Stop yowling, will you? It's all right. You heard what the skipper said. We'll go right down and get him out—"
"Oh, I w-wouldn't g-get him out f-for anything!" she gulped, forlornly, over the handkerchief she was jabbing at the corners of her eyes. Her breast heaved jerkily. "He — h-he'd only d-do some perfectly m-mad thing straightaway and g-get p-put right — right b-back in again. But, oh, d-dear! when I think of the p-poor d-darling l-languish-ing, p-positively — l-languishing — in — in a — foul d-dun— bubuloo!" choked Peggy, and burst into a spasm of weeping.
These, reader, are the times that try men's souls: when tears flow by reason of some inexplicable logic that escapes you, and all you can do is to pat her shoulder whilst desperately wondering what is wrong. He tried remonstrance — an error. He pointed out that it was not as though Warren had been shoved in the Bastille, never again to see the light of day; adding that the maniac was quite comfortable there and had been promised a specially cooked capon for his dinner. She said she wondered how Morgan thought the poor boy would have the heart to eat it. She said he was a cruel, callous beast ever to think of such a thing; and went off the deep end again. After this crushing retort, all he could think of was to rush her to the bar for a couple o!' stiff drinks as quickly as possible.
That her tears were dried was due to a new cause for worry, which he saw presented itself to her as soon as they entered the bar.
The bar (quaintly called smoking-room) was a spacious oak-panelled cathedral at the rear of B deck, full of stale smoke and a damp alcoholic fragrance. There were tables in alcoves of deep leather lounges, and a number of gaunt electric fans depending from the pastoral-painted ceiling. Except for one customer, who stood at the bar counter with his back towards them, it was deserted. Sunlight streamed through windows of coloured mosaic glass swaying gently on the floor; only peaceful creakings of woodwork and the drowsy murmur of the wake disturbed its cathedral hush.