“Not yet,” said Rodd.
“I suppose you will be going soon, won’t you, Mr Morny?” said the skipper, who somehow always forgot their visitor’s title.
“I am expecting my father will be coming up soon to say it is time.”
“Yes; I shouldn’t leave it much longer,” said the skipper. “I’ll tell him.—Joe Cross, there!”
“Ay, ay, sir!”
“You and four men stand by with the gig to take the Count aboard his vessel. You will just drop down head to stream ready to pull hard if the tide seems a bit too heavy; and you, my lad, be ready forward with the end of the line made fast to the thwart and the grapnel clear, ready to drop overboard to get hold of the mud if you find the current too strong.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the man; and the skipper went below.
“I am glad of that, Joe,” said Rodd eagerly. “I was thinking whether there was any risk of the boat being swept away.”
“So was I, sir; but it’s always the same. Whenever I think of something that ought to be done I always find that our old man has thought of it before. Did you see that we have swung round to our anchor?”
“No,” said Rodd.