Abruptly then, as if half sorry for his display of interest, he closed the door and they were once more
alone. They looked from one to the other, and Mr. Temple nodded satisfaction.
“You’re a discerning lad, Bob,” he said.
The others nodded. That was all. But, rightly or wrongly, the impression was beginning to grow upon them that in Matt Murphy, “Black George’s” right-hand man, they might eventually find a friend.
[CHAPTER XI—“BEST LAID PLANS”]
“How fast do you imagine this boat is going, Mr. Temple?”
Jack asked the question at the breakfast table next morning. None of the four were seasick. At their homes on the far end of Long Island they maintained a speed boat. Bob and Frank, in addition, owned an airplane. All, as a consequence, were long since seasoned to the pitch and toss to which they were now subjected.
Breakfast had been served in the salon by several Chinamen under the eye of Matt Murphy. The room, as well as their cabins, they saw had been refitted luxuriously. The quarters were considerably larger than one would expect to find aboard a trawler, and the furnishings were those of a wealthy sportsman’s yacht. In addition to the two cabins opening from one side of the salon and which they occupied, two others were similarly located opposite. One was occupied by Matt Murphy who, apparently, was
captain of the vessel, and the other by “Black George.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mr. Temple in answer to Jack’s question. “But a boat such as this is not built for speed. Its especial quality is staunchness.”