“I hear there is a detective from Chicago on board, with a prisoner,” ventured Mr. Fitts. “Why doesn't the Captain ask him to have a look at this stowaway fellow?”
“What would be the good of that?” demanded Mr. Landover. “I never saw a detective in my life that knew what to do in an emergency. Soon as you get one of them where he can't telephone in to headquarters for instructions he's as helpless as a baby. Don't talk to me about detectives. Why, this fellow would simply laugh in his face.”
“Just, as he is laughing in yours at this moment, Mr. Landover,” pursued Mr. Fitts pleasantly.
“The damned rascal,” said Mr. Landover, and stalked away.
“There goes one of the biggest figures in the United States,” said Mr. Nicklestick, looking after the banker. His remark was addressed to Mr. Fitts. “I wish I had his brains.”
“Dey vouldn't do you any good, Nicklestick,” said Mr. Block, “unless you had his money too also.”
“If I had his brains,” said Mr. Nicklestick, “he wouldn't have his money, so what's the difference?”
CHAPTER III.
Mr. Block looked uneasily out over the tumbling ocean, focusing his gaze on a section of the horizon that for want of something more definite than mere hope lay in a direct line with the City of New York.