“Preparedness is the word of the hour,” Carstairs was saying, as he raised his glass. “It's a long, cold ride home.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen, shall I call up Central at Bushleigh and see if they can give us any news!” asked Peter.
“You might try. I don't believe you can get a connection, however. Everything must be knocked galley-west over on that side of the ridge.”
“I think your wife is signalling you, Carstairs,” said Zimmerlein, looking over the other's shoulder.
Carstairs tossed off the contents of the glass, and reached out his hand for the check. Zimmerlein already had it in his fingers.
'“I'll sign it, old chap,” he said. “Give me your pencil, Peter.”
“None of that, Zimmie. I ordered the—”
“Run along, old man, your wife—He's coming, Mrs. Carstairs,” called out Zimmerlein.
As Carstairs turned away, Zimmerlein scratched his name across the check, and handed it back to the steward.
“Under no circumstances are you to call up Bushleigh,” fell in low, distinct tones from his lips. “Do you understand?”