“And you get back to your engine and mind your own business.” Little angry points of light shot into Knutsen’s eyes. “And if you see Cornet, tell him to bring up anoder bottle. Dis one’s almost empty.”
McNab turned to the door, where for a moment he stood listening to the wild raging of the wind. Then he climbed down into the engine room.
There was nothing in his face, as he entered, to reveal the paths of his thought. He was wholly casual, wholly commonplace, seemingly not in the least alarmed. He stepped to Bess’s side, half smiling.
“I wonder if you can help me?” he asked.
The girl stood up, a straight, athletic figure at his side. “I’ll try, of course.”
“It depends—have you any influence with young Cornet?”
Bess slowly shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she told him, very gravely. “I have no influence with him at all. What is it you wanted me to do?”
“I wanted you to tell him to put up the booze. Particularly to keep the captain from getting any more. This is a bum night. It’s against the rules of the sea to scare passengers, but somehow, I figure you’re the stuff that can stand it and maybe hold out. This isn’t a night to have a shipload of drunks. There may be some tight places before the morning.
“There’s only one way.” The girl’s lips were close to his ear, else he couldn’t have heard in the roar of the storm and the flapping of the sails. “Listen, McNab. How much has he got in the dining saloon?”
“None, now, I don’t think. He only brought up two bottles, and Knutsen’s got one of ’em—not much in it, though. They must have emptied the other.”