Martin managed a thin smile.
“I’ve spent a winter in New York—that’s all.”
The sailor bent over him.
“Listen—I been up at the Hall. I heard what you done the other night. There’s two ships in you can make. One is your old pal, the Verda. We need two men. Can you get Rio? I still got his oilskins.”
“What happened to the little ordinary, Al?” Martin asked.
The sailor looked puzzled.
“The ordinary?” Al thought a moment. “Oh—you mean that little screw that was aboard when you and Rio piled off. Damned if I know. He only made one more trip. Say,” he said, looking at Martin queerly, “we sail at five. There ain’t no time to lose. Git hold of Rio and beat it to the Hall.”
“All right,” said Martin, getting up. He went out quickly, nodding to the policeman by the entrance, then hurried to Rio’s room and knocked on the door. Rio opened it. He looked half-asleep.
“What’s up?” he asked, rolling back on the bed. “James don’t bring coffee till eleven.”
“I’m shipping on the Verda this evening. Do you want to come along?”