Bill became thoughtful. Why hadn't she mentioned the matter to him? And who was the boss of this yacht, anyhow? Could people order up the launch just as if they owned it?
He made a search for Pete Stearns and could not find him. Again he spoke to the second officer.
"Oh, the young man, sir? Why, he went ashore at the same time. I believe I heard him say that he had a few purchases to make."
Bill gritted his teeth. Here was a piece of presumption that no owner could tolerate. They had gone away together, of course; they had been very careful not to say a word to him. What for? What sort of an affair was in progress between his valet and his secretary? The more he thought about it the higher rose his temper.
"I'm going ashore myself," he said shortly. "Please hurry the launch."
Ten minutes later he was hunting for a taxi along the Manhattan waterfront, deeply disturbed in mind and with a fixed resolution to demand explanations.
But the suspicions of Bill Marshall did injustice at least to one of the missing persons. Mary Wayne had gone ashore on a purely private mission, and she was not only surprised, but annoyed when her employer's valet also stepped into the launch.
"If you don't mind, miss," said Pete, apologetically, as the launch was headed for the wharf, "I have some purchases to make for Mr. William."
Mary answered, of course, that she did not mind, and after that she kept her thoughts to herself. Where the wharf entrance opened on Twelfth Avenue, Pete lifted his hat respectfully, bid her good evening, and went off in an opposite direction.
But he did not go far; merely far enough to conceal himself in a shadow from which he could watch without fear of discovery. Mary was without suspicion; she walked briskly eastward, glad to be so easily rid of her fellow passenger. When he had permitted her to assume a safe lead, Pete stepped out of his shadow and followed.