“Some day I’m going to try it,” says Mr. Browning, and then the noise got so loud he turned and yelled at the men. “Hey,” he says, “stop the noise or I’ll heave you both overboard. You get below Rameses III and get lunch. You Naboth, get things stowed away shipshape in the lazarette.”
They quit in a second and Rameses III ducked below. I turned to look behind, and there was the black yacht, not more than half a mile behind, cutting through the water as business-like as could be.
Catty motioned to me and jerked his head aft. I saw he wanted to say something to me, so I got up and went to the after deck and he came along in a minute.
“Hear that talk?” says he.
“Not being deaf,” says I, “I did.”
“What did you make out of it?”
“Nothing,” says I, “unless Mr. Topper is crazy, or he’s running away from somebody with something.”
“Um. He doesn’t look crazy to me.”
“That settles it then,” says I, kind of sarcastic.
“And he isn’t running away from the police. Mr. Browning wouldn’t have that kind of a man aboard.”