“I don’t know how I got on board,” Lang hurried on. “Give me five minutes, Findlay. I must see the captain. I’ve got to be put ashore.”
“Come inside,” said Findlay, opening his cabin door. “I’ve got to go on duty in ten minutes, but I’d rather be late than miss the juicy sort of story you seem to have.”
He shut the door on the gathering group of passengers, and listened to Lang’s tale with appreciation, and not without sympathy.
“Shanghaied, by gad!” he commented. “Hard luck, for a fact. Paid your fare and took your last copper. I suppose you’ve got more money somewhere?”
“Oh, yes, in my Mobile bank. But that isn’t the point. I’ve got to get ashore. It’s a business matter; it may cause a huge loss——”
“Oh, that’s clean out of the question,” said Findlay, looking at him with indulgent compassion. “The captain would have a fit if you suggested such a thing to him. Why, we’re six hours out. I don’t doubt it’s important, but then it’s important for our passengers to get quickly to Seattle. Send a boat ashore? Impossible. No, you’ll just make up your mind to go on to Seattle with us.”
“I can’t do that!” Lang muttered, appalled. What would the Morrisons think of his disappearance?
“At least I must send a wireless to Panama,” he said quickly.
“Sorry. Our wireless is out of fix. We can receive, but we can’t send till we get some new parts at Seattle.”
“Oh, Lord!” Lang groaned.