"Aye, aye, sir. Leave it to me," said the sailor. "If you'll just steer her dear of this bit o' wreckage… Thank you, Captain!" He took the wheel over from Amberley and set the boat's nose back to port.
Amberley knelt beside Shirley and cut the ropes that bound her. Her wrists were deeply scored by them, but a faint, indomitable smile quivered on her lips. "You - always - turn up," she said, through chattering teeth.
"Th — thanks!"
Chapter Nineteen
The experience she had gone through and the shock of her immersion had their inevitable result on Shirley. The brandy dispelled the blue shade from her mouth, but she lay in a state of semi-consciousness while the boat made its way back to port.
There was very little that Amberley could do for her. He stripped his overcoat off and wrapped it round her, but under it her own clothes were sodden, and her flesh felt very cold. He began to rub her limbs; her eyes were closed, the dark lashes lying wet on her cheek.
The sailor offered sympathetic advice and shouted once in Amberley's ear: "Who done it?" He got no answer and bent to bellow confidentially: "I thought you was off your rocker."
There was an inn on the quayside, and when the boat got back to the harbour Amberley carried Shirley there, led by the sailor. The landlady, a startling blonde of enormous proportions, came out of the bar and in spite of her appearance proved to be a capable person who took the situation in it a glance. The sailor, glad of a chance to unbosom himself, launched into a graphic description of the rescue while Amberley laid Shirley down on a horsehair sofa in the parlour.
The landlady said: "Good sakes alive!" and sharply comanded Amberley to bring the young lady upstairs.
She then screamed to someoe apparently a mile away to take a scuttle up to the best bedroom, and waddled out, telling Amberley to follow her.