“I’m afraid we’re keeping you from your dinner,” Eve said, rising.
“Not a bit of it,” the Captain assured her. But as if to give denial to his assertion, at that moment a ship’s gong was heard booming loudly from within. Mechanically we all got to our feet. “Aunt Cal’s awfully annoyed with us when we don’t come to dinner on time,” Eve went on conversationally. “I really think you ought to go in, Captain.”
“Well, well, that’s too bad!” The Captain’s polite protestations followed us as we descended the steps and marched, in single file, to the front gate. No one spoke till we had reached Aunt Cal’s side porch. We seated ourselves in a row on the top step. It was Hattie May who broke the silence. “Another mystery!” she exclaimed. “I guess Hamish and I’ll stay the week out anyway.”
“Fat chance,” said Hamish, “of finding out anything with that door kept shut! And the Captain guarding it like a bally old sea dog or sumpin.”
“I dare say,” I said lightly, “that there’s really no mystery at all. Perhaps the Captain simply considered that the seafaring gentleman from the tropics wasn’t fit company for what he calls ‘young ladies’.”
Hattie May shook her head emphatically. “Nonsense! He was jumpy as a rabbit! There’s more to it than that.”
“It did all seem a little—queer,” Eve mused. “What do you think, Hamish?”
Hamish looked appeased at this deference to his opinion. “Well if you want to know what I think,” he stated significantly, “I think he’s hiding someone!”
“Do you mean—Bangs?” I breathed. And we all stared at Hamish’s round solemn face.
“That’s what he calls himself!” he answered.