In the late afternoon of the second day our flotilla reached the Elbe at Brunsbüttel and ranged up in the inner basin, while a big liner, whimpering like a fretful baby, was tenderly nursed into the lock. During the delay Davies left me in charge, and bolted off with an oil-can and a milk-jug. An official in uniform was passing along the quay from vessel to vessel countersigning papers. I went up to meet him with our receipt for dues, which he signed carelessly. Then he paused and muttered “Dooltzhibella,” scratching his head, “that was the name. English?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Little lust-cutter, that is so; there was an inquiry for you.”
“Whom from?”
“A friend of yours from a big barge-yacht.”
“Oh, I know; she went on to Hamburg, I suppose?”
“No such luck, captain; she was outward bound.”
What did the man mean? He seemed to be vastly amused by something.
“When was this—about three weeks ago?” I asked, indifferently.
“Three weeks? It was the day before yesterday. What a pity to miss him by so little!” He chuckled and winked.