“Oh, there can’t be anything wrong exactly. A bit of a scrap among some of the crew, I daresay.”
In spite of his words he looked uneasy as he lit a cigarette.
“Don’t let me keep you if you want to go up,” I said.
“Perhaps I might as well have a look.” He followed Edmund and I was left alone.
There were no unusual sounds, nor any sign of alteration in the weather. I felt that if it was only some matter of the ship’s discipline they would prefer me to remain below.
I drank another cup of coffee, but then curiosity overcame my scruples and I went on deck.
A little dirty steamer had come up to within a quarter of a mile of us, one of those tiny nondescript things that knock about near harbours with a bit of deck for’ard and a funnel right in the stern making a vast amount of black smoke. Someone on her deck was handing down a string of signal-flags as I came up, and I noticed that our course was altered so as to bring us right down to her. There was nothing else to be seen save the spouts of foam over the Casquets, now far astern.
Captain Welfare, Edmund and Jakoub were leaning on the port bulwarks, watching the little vessel and then Edmund came past me to take the wheel from one of the Arabs.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“It’s a letter from the people in Guernsey—I don’t know what they want.”