“Well, it seems we’re wanted out East at once, very urgent. There’s nothing for it but to make all sail and get there.”
“Out East?”
“The Mediterranean, you know—the old beat.”
“But that will take weeks!”
“We should do it in a month with luck, if the weather holds.”
“And where are you going to put me off?”
“We were just talking about that, me and Mr. Edmund. You wouldn’t think well of making the trip with us, I suppose?”
“That’s quite out of the question. I only arranged to be away for two or three weeks.”
“It will be a bit warm out there, of course, but not bad really, especially at sea, and the worst of the Khamsins—that’s the hot winds, you know—will be over.”
“But, Captain Welfare, I don’t care about the climate there, for I’m not going. It’s impossible. I must ask you to call at Guernsey or somewhere and put me off. Then I could get back to Southampton. I shall be very sorry to leave the boat, but there’s nothing else for it.”