"Very good. You did quite right in telling me, but mention it to no one else, understand. You may go."
Left alone, the two looked at each other for a moment until Hammer chuckled.
"So our worthy doctor has fallen off the wagon, eh? Well, it's his funeral, cap'n, not ours. Better drop him a hint?"
"Eh? By Jove, no! I want no bally German telling me to keep my place! He knows what he's doing, Hammer, and I'm no nursemaid, so we'll let him drink himself to death if he likes. I'd much sooner see that fellow Jenson go overboard in a sack, for the doctor's quite a decent sort, don't you know."
"He might be worse," nodded Hammer. "Well, I'll be off and get a bit of sleep under the after-awning by the electric fan."
Here he managed to obtain a modicum of relief from the heat, and dropped off to sleep without troubling himself over the alcoholism of Dr. Sigurd Krausz.
How long he was asleep he had no idea, until he was aroused by an excited voice, which resolved itself into that of the doctor in question. Half-clad, dishevelled, and with furiously-flushed features, the archaeologist was disclaiming wildly in German to Hans Schlak, whose watch it was.
The two were standing by the starboard rail, and as Hammer raised himself on his hands the second mate cast a helpless glance at him. The American caught the look, and did not hesitate to break into the scientist's flow of words.
"Who's up on the bridge, Schlak?" he asked curtly. "You'd better get back before the captain——"
"Was ist?" Krausz lurched about with a black frown, and Schlak seized the chance to get away. At the same instant Roberts appeared, bearing a whisky and soda. He hesitated at sight of Hammer.