"They didn't telegraph you, did they? Well, we shall see. Anyway—draw him out!"
In silence they regained the corridors, descended the wide staircase, and sought the street. Presently they entered a deserted lobby and gained the elevator running to the restaurant above.
When they stepped out of the car, they found Boatswain Joe awaiting them, manifestly ill at ease, and obviously an object of some suspicion on the part of the restaurant people. Dennis, knowing the head waiter of old, gained a quiet table in a corner and ordered dinner.
He was covertly watching Florence, to see how she took to the seaman; but she was plainly doing her best to put Ericksen at his ease. Amid these surroundings, he was anything but comfortable. The linen and silver, the table appointments, the orchestra, the general surroundings—all abashed and discomfited him. Tom Dennis grinned to himself, for this was precisely what he had aimed at.
But Boatswain Joe was there for a purpose and lost no time getting about it. Florence Hathaway, too, was wildly eager to authenticate the news of her father, and urged him to tell his story at once. So Ericksen, by the time the soup arrived, was into it full swing and was forgetting his own awkwardness and the girl's presence; bashfulness left him, and he told the story more in detail than he had to Dennis—perhaps under the spell of those glowing brown eyes.
And Dennis, studying the man, realized that Ericksen was no fool. He had guessed as much from the twisted lines of the face. Now, the more he listened, the more Dennis felt that Boatswain Joe had been well chosen for his present errand. The man presented the story of Captain Hathaway with a simplicity which carried conviction.
"So, ma'am, the skipper and the missus are takin' care of him," he concluded. "The skipper says to me: 'If the lady wants proof, boatswain, you give it to her!' So, ma'am, I got some pictures took showin' all of us."
Ericksen took an envelope from his pocket and passed it to the girl. She drew forth some photographs—and her face went white.
"Look here, Ericksen!" Dennis leaned forward, his eyes gripping the gaze of the sailor. "There are some things we don't understand. Why did you come in person to find Miss Hathaway? Who's your skipper, and why is he taking care of Captain Hathaway? Why are you spending so much money on the project?"
The arrogant, light-blue eyes flashed suddenly—a flash of suspicion, of anger.