“South,” said Lestrange. “Come up on deck, I want to talk to you.”
Stanistreet followed, wondering what was to happen next. There was a contained vivacity in the voice and manner of the other that, to the logical and matter-of-fact mind of the sailor, seemed a portent of troubles to come.
He followed closely, and when Lestrange walked to the port rail and stood with his hands upon it fronting the blazing east, the captain of the Ranatonga came and stood beside him, elbow touching elbow, and ready for any emergency. But his mind was soon put at rest. Lestrange, quite calm and cheerful in manner, stood contemplating the splendour before him and breathing in the fresh sea air with evident delight.
Then he turned and glanced along the deck to where Peterson, one of the hands, had succeeded Bowers at the wheel.
“What is she doing?” asked he.
“Ten knots,” replied Stanistreet.
“And the island?”
“Less than sixty miles from here.”
“Good,” said Lestrange. He turned again to the rail. A land gull passed them flying topmast high, drifted a bit on the wind, lit on the water and rose again, making north.
Lestrange watched it for a moment. Then he spoke.