Bob gazed fixedly at the ensign.
“Your head must still be troubled with that dope the supposed Chinaman put in the coffee,” said he calmly. “It was lucky that I was able to do what I did, and, as for the Chinaman getting away, I could no more help that than any of the rest of you. But it was a lucky thing for us that he did get away, I can tell you that.”
“Vat bizness you got finding some fault mit Bob Steele?” snapped Carl, making a truculent move in Glennie’s direction. “You vas a bassencher—don’d forged dot—und Bob vas der skipper. Ve ought to call him gaptain, only he von’t allow id; but, all der same, he iss der gaptain oof der boat, und you vill keep schtill oder I vill pat you on der back mit mein fist. Yah, so, Misder Glennie!”
“That will do, Carl,” said Bob. “Draw back into your shell now, and keep still yourself. I can handle my own end with Mr. Glennie.”
Carl flung off to the other side of the room, tramping heavily to show his impatience and disgust.
“I presume,” said the ensign reflectively, “that you did the best you could, Mr. Steele, so I have no fault to find with you. But you understand that Ah Sin was my only hope for locating those important papers in Para.”
Bob stared, wondering if Glennie had forgotten the discovery he had made just before he had lapsed into unconsciousness.
“I had a mighty queer dream about that Chinaman,” pursued Glennie. “I thought you had a fight with him, Bob, and that, during the scuffle, his old slouch hat came off, and the queue along with it. And I was under the impression that Ah Sin wasn’t a Chinaman at all, but Tolo, that rascally Jap.”
“That wasn’t a dream, Mr. Glennie,” answered Bob, “but is literally what took place.”