There was some mistake, of course; self-possessed, cool, deliberate in word and look as she was, this slender, brown-haired, brown-eyed girl could not be the austere mistress of Semitic tongues——
"I beg your pardon," he found himself stammering weakly. "I didn't mean that message for you; I wanted to see Miss Helmuth, the scientific person who doesn't like my Arabic cuss-words."
A trace of red crept through her cheeks, but her eyes held his with no response to the whimsical laugh of him.
"I am Miss Helmuth," she said coldly enough, not moving that he might enter the tent, and appraising him keenly as she spoke.
Hammer stared at her in open disbelief, but not for long. Something in the curve of the dark eyebrows and the set of the girlish mouth, something in the poise of the small head, gave a hint of resolution and firmness—and Hammer took the hint.
"Ah," and he bowed with his fine smile, "I trust you will pardon my surprise. I was looking for a spectacled, gaunt lady of uncertain age, and never expected to find——"
"I am not interested in your expectations, Mr. Hammer," her reply came coldly. "What is your business with me?"
Again Hammer was taken all aback and could not quite readjust himself.
"Why—er——" It struck him that she would think that he was attempting to flirt with her, and the thought sent him floundering deeper. "You see, Miss—Professor, I mean—Professor Helmuth, I'm first officer of the Daphne, and—— Oh, blame it all! Honest, Miss Helmuth, get that look off your face or I'll run!"
A flicker of amusement came into her brown eyes, then it passed, and her look hardened strangely. Hammer could almost have imagined that she had been crying not so very long ago.