“I think,” he said, “that I am quite safe from arrest, but at the same time, Captain, I am very sorry to be such a troublesome passenger to you.”
The captain shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, it is not your fault,” he said; “but I have made up my mind about one thing. I am not going to stop my ship this side of Boston Harbour for anything afloat. We have lost half a day already.”
“If the Cunard Company will send me the extra coal bill,” Mr. Sabin said, “I will pay it cheerfully, for I am afraid that both stoppages have been on my account.”
“Bosh!” The Captain, who was moving away, stopped short. “You had nothing to do with these New Yorkers and their broken-down yacht.”
Mr. Sabin finished lighting a cigarette which he had taken from his case, and, passing his arm through the captain’s, drew him a little further away from the gangway.
“I’m afraid I had,” he said. “As a matter of fact they are not New Yorkers, and they are not husband and wife. They are simply agents in the pay of the German secret police.”
“What, spies!” the captain exclaimed.
Mr. Sabin nodded.
“Exactly!”