“Yes, sir. About an hour ago. He told me to chip rust by the fishplate,” answered Rio.
The captain looked puzzled.
“By the fishplate? Quick, man!—was that the last you saw him?”
“That’s the last, sir.”
“Put her about!” the captain shouted up at the bridge. “See that a boat’s ready.”
The ship had just swung round when the second mate’s head appeared above the hatch. He blinked in the sunlight. His shirt was torn, his flashlight was crushed and he had a skinned right arm. He limped slowly toward the captain.
“I was just checking the cargo, sir,” he said. He turned angrily toward Rio. “I know that man saw me go down.”
The captain addressed his officer severely.
“Why aren’t you on the bridge, Mr. Birch? Do you check cargo on your own watch?—And with a beam sea like this running?”