Quest leaned a little forward and gazed down the line of steamer chairs. The Professor, in a borrowed overcoat and cap, was reclining at full length, studying a book on seagulls which he had found in the library. Laura and Lenora were both dozing tranquilly. Mr. Harris of Scotland Yard was deep in a volume of detective stories.
“As a pleasure cruise,” Quest remarked grimly, “this little excursion seems to be a complete success.”
Laura opened her eyes at once.
“Trying to get my goat again, eh?” she retorted. “I suppose that’s what you’re after. Going to tell me, I suppose, that it wasn’t Craig I saw board this steamer?”
“We are all liable to make mistakes,” Quest observed, “and I am inclined to believe that this is one of yours.”
Laura’s expression was a little dogged.
“If he’s too clever for you and Mr. Harris,” she said, “I can’t help that. I only know that he came on board. My eyes are the one thing in life I do believe.”
“If you’ll excuse my saying so, Miss Laura,” Harris ventured, leaning deferentially towards her, “there isn’t a passenger on board this ship, or a servant, or one of the crew, whom we haven’t seen. We’ve been into every stateroom, and we’ve even searched the hold. We’ve been over the ship, backwards and forwards. The Captain’s own steward has been our guide, and we’ve conducted an extra search on our own account. Personally, I must say I have come to the same conclusion as Mr. Quest. At the present moment there is no such person as the man we are looking for, on board this steamer.”
“Then he either changed on to another one,” Laura declared obstinately, “or else he jumped overboard.”
Harris, who was a very polite man, gazed thoughtfully seaward. Quest smiled.