"Commander ayn't 'ere, sir," the steward informed them, squinting at Warren in a rather sinister fashion. " 'E's gorn to see Lord Sturton, 'e said you wos to wait, if you please."
Warren tried to be nonchalant, but he showed his apprehension.
"Ah," he said, "Ah! Thanks, steward. How is the old mackerel feeling this morning? That is — er—"
"Ho!" said the steward significantly, and punched at a pillow as he arranged it.
"I see," said Warren. "Well, we'll — er — sit down."
The steward pottered about the cabin, which gave evidence that the captain had fired things about in some haste, and finally doddered out with the breakfast tray. The nasty look he gave them over his shoulder confirmed their hypothesis that the beauties of nature did not induce in Captain Whistler any mood to stand on the bridge and sing sea-shanties.
"I guess he's still peeved," was Warren's opinion. "And this is kind of a delicate matter, Hank. You do all the talking now. I don't think I care to risk it."
"You bet your sweet life I'll do all the talking," agreed Morgan. "I wouldn't answer for any of us if the skipper walked in here and saw you with this razor in your hands. Especially as he's just gone to see Sturton, he is not likely to be in a playful frame of mind. Understand — you are to keep absolutely silent throughout the whole interview.
Not a word, not a movement unless you're asked to confirm something. I refuse to take any more chances. But I don't know—" He sat down in a leather chair, ruffled his hair, and stared out of one porthole at the pale sky. The sunlit cabin, swaying with drowsy gentleness in a murmurous swish of water conveyed no sense of peace. "I don't know," he went on, "that I feel altogether right about it myself. For the moment let Woodcock keep his information and blast him. What has happened to that emerald? That's the question."
"But after all, Hank, it isn't any business of ours," Peggy pointed out, with a woman's practical instinct. She took off her shell-rimmed glasses with a pleased air of having solved the thing, and shut them into her handbag with a decisive snap. "I shouldn't bother, old boy. What's the odds?"