“The strap unfastened and it slipped off. It’s here somewhere.”
Taking no part in the conversation, Jack had devoted himself to inspecting the ground beneath the evergreen.
“Is this your watch, sir?” he inquired, holding up the shiny object.
“It is! I hope you realize now that you’ve made a blasted mistake.”
“But—I was sure—” Warwick stammered, completely deflated. “The waiter said he saw you at our table on the terrace. Maybe you’ll explain what you were doing there.”
“I went to the terrace to see a guy named George Livingston. They told me that was his table. No one there. Only empty dishes. So I left.”
“You were to see Mr. Livingston?” Jack repeated. “Then you must be—”
“Captain Carter. Captain Edmund Carter, skipper of the Shark.”
“Jumping hop toads!” War muttered. “I—I guess I’ve made another bad mistake.”
The captain’s laugh was unpleasant. “I should complain to the police,” he said. “But forget it. No use getting one’s wind up over trifles.”