“I hope they’ll get it,” said the Commander. “The fact is, I hold a few shares myself.”
“Oh, I hope I haven’t been asking indiscreet questions?”
“Oh, dear no; all the world knows what I’ve told you. But you’ll understand that one has to be reticent as to results in such a case. It’s a big stake, and the title is none too sound. There has been litigation over it. Not that I worry much about my investment; for I shan’t lose much by it at the worst. But it gives one an interest in this abominable coast. I go and see how they’re getting on sometimes, when I’m down that way.”
“It is an abominable coast,” I agreed heartily, “though you won’t get Davies to agree.”
“It’s a magnificent place for sailing,” said Davies, looking wistfully out over the storm-speckled grey of the North Sea.
He underwent some more chaff, and the talk passed to our cruising adventures in the Baltic and the estuaries. Von Brüning cross-examined us with the most charming urbanity and skill. Nothing he asked could cause us the slightest offence; and a responsive frankness was our only possible course. So, date after date, and incident after incident, were elicited in the most natural way. As we talked I was astonished to find how little there was that was worth concealing, and heartily thankful that we had decided on candour. My fluency gave me the lead, and Davies followed me; but his own personality was really our tower of strength. I realised that as I watched the play of his eager features, and heard him struggle for expression on his favourite hobby; all his pet phrases translated crudely into the most excruciating German. He was convincing, because he was himself.
“Are there many like you in England?” asked von Brüning once.
“Like me? Of course—lots,” said Davies.
“I wish there were more in Germany; they play at yachting over here—on shore half the time, drinking and loafing; paid crews, clean hands, white trousers; laid up in the middle of September.”
“We haven’t seen many yachts about, said Davies, politely.