Jeff and Abe took him at his word; but Larry, lingering, asked Carlyle pointedly:
"How's Ann? She was pretty sick when I left her."
He would have taken oath that the salvage boss' dark eyes flinched. Those piercing eyes searched his face for an instant before Carlyle replied. Finally:
"Not so good, Captain," he said. "Why don't you look at her? Might do a lot for her, you know."
"I'm afraid I don't know, sir," Larry Wolfe ground out. "I seemed to be so much excess cargo last time."
He turned stiffly and passed him. But, drawn by something more powerful than his wounded pride, he went straight to Ann's room and knocked softly.
A voice so weak he scarcely recognized it answered him.
Larry went in. Ann was lying back against the pillows. The deathly pallor of her face caused him to start.
"Ann!" he groaned. "What is it? What's happening to you?"
The girl's bloodless features did not warm at sight of him. But a strain of fear coursed through her throaty tones.