“What’re you looking at?” Eve stirred sleepily.
“Nothing,” I began and stopped. Someone was coming out of the house next door—a short figure in white duck trousers, dark coat and visored cap. The Captain? Where on earth could he be going at this ungodly hour?
Eve was beside me, I could hear her catch her breath. “It’s him!” she said.
“You mean the Captain?” I asked, puzzled at her intensity.
“Of course not. Can’t you see the way he walks and—and his legs!”
“You mean it’s the cook all togged up like that?”
“Disguised of course. We might have expected something like this. I suppose Hamish is asleep by now.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t think so. The last I saw him he was hoofing it across Captain Trout’s back yard in the general direction of the sea.” And I told her what had happened.
“Why on earth didn’t you wake me?” she said when I had finished. “To think I should have missed it all! Do you think Aunt Cal suspects anything?”
“I don’t think so. Where d’you suppose he’s going, Eve—the cook, I mean?”