“Now, what about her voyage back from Hamburg? Was she alone?”
“No; the stepmother joined her.”
“Did she say she had inquired about you at Brunsbüttel?”
“No; I suppose she didn’t like to. And there was no need, because my taking the Eider explained it.”
I reflected. “You’re sure she hadn’t a notion that you took the short cut?”
“Quite sure; but she may guess it now. She guessed foul play by seeing that book.”
“Of course she did; but I was thinking of something else. There are two stories afloat now—yours to von Brüning, the true one, that you followed the Medusa to the short cut; and Dollmann’s to her, that you went round the Scharhorn. That’s evidently his version of the affair—the version he would have given if you had been drowned and inquiries were ever made; the version he would have sworn his crew to if they discovered the truth.”
“But he must drop that yarn when he knows I’m alive and back again.”
“Yes; but meanwhile, supposing von Brüning sees him before he knows you’re back again, and wants to find out the truth about that incident. If I were von Brüning I should say, ‘By the way, what’s become of that young Englishman you decoyed away to the Baltic?’ Dollmann would give his version, and von Brüning, having heard ours, would know he was lying, and had tried to drown you.”
“Does it matter? He must know already that Dollmann’s a scoundrel.”