"Hullo!" said Morgan, who was paying no attention. "It's begun. Good work. She thought of it… "
Down the broad polished staircase into the dining-saloon came the tall and majestic figures of Mr. and Mrs. Leslie Perrigord; well-groomed, moving together in step. And between them, talking earnestly, walked Peggy Glenn.
Peggy came just a trifle above Mrs. Perrigord's shoulder. Evidently as a sort of intellectual touch, she had put on her shell-rimmed spectacles and an exuberant amount of make-up. Her frock was what looked to Morgan like a batik pattern. She was speaking with animation to the monocled Mrs. Perrigord, who seemed to convey nuances of reply by ghostly silent movements of eyebrow and lip. At the foot of the stairs Morgan expected her to break off and come to their table; but she did nothing of the kind. To Morgan she made an almost imperceptible signal; of what, he was not sure. Then she went on with the Perrigords to their table.
Warren muttered something in muffled surprise, after which they noted something else. Coming down the staircase a short distance behind them shuffled the big and amiable figure of Captain Valvick, whose sandy hair was brushed up straight and his leathery face once more netted with wrinkles as he listened to some tale. The tale was being told him, in fact, by Mr. Charles Woodcock. Mr. Woodcock, who freely described himself as the Bug-powder Boy, seemed excited. Invariably, when excited his thin frame seemed to hop and twist; an optical illusion, because he kept his eyes fixed on your face while he poured out a rapid string of words in a confidential undertone.
"What's Valvick up to?" demanded Warren. "All the allies seem to be working except us. Have you noticed our square-head's been keeping away from Woodcock, because they're both powerful yarn-spinners and they put each other out like a couple of forest fires? Well, then, look how quiet he's keeping and tell me what's on his mind."
Morgan didn't know; he supposed it was Mr. Woodcock's version of what had occurred last night. If so conservative a Presbyterian as Dr. Oliver Harrison Kyle had suggested rape, then he shuddered to think of the goings-on that would present themselves to the versatile imagination of the Bug-powder Boy. The dining-saloon was rapidly filling up, pulsing now with a joyous babble and clamour as of prisoners released, but they heard Mr. Woodcock's hearty voice. He said, "All right, old socks. Don't forget to tell your pals," and slapped Captain Valvick on the back as he went towards his own table.
With a puzzled expression Valvick lumbered towards their table. He beamed a good morning, swung round his chair, and uttered the word:
"Mermaid!"
Morgan blinked. "Don't," he said. "For God's sake stop! That's enough. If anybody tells me that Captain Whistler was chasing a mermaid around C deck last night, the last shred of my sanity will be gone. Don't say it! I can't bear to hear any more!"
"Eh?" said Valvick, staring. "What iss dis? Ay nefer hear anyt'ing like dat, dough ay haff a mess-boy once who say he hass seen one. Dis iss Mr. Woodcock's invention— ay tell you about it, but ay haff to listen to him a lot because he know a lot about diss crook… "