“Then I would suggest that you apply to my assistant.”
“As I don’t know where he is, I have come to you.”
The doctor made a sign of impatience. “Well,” he said “you have told me, which I think is as far as your concern in the matter goes. I may add that I’m not accustomed to dictation on behalf of a steerage passenger.”
Agatha saw Wyllard slip between the doctor and the entrance to the saloon, but she saw also the skipper appear a few paces behind them, and glance at them sharply. He was usually a silent man, at home in the ice and the clammy fog, but not a great acquisition in the saloon.
“Something wrong down forward, Mr. Wyllard? They were making a great row a little while ago,” the skipper said.
“Nothing very serious,” Wyllard answered. “One of the boys has cut his head.”
The skipper turned towards the doctor and Agatha guessed that he had overheard part of the conversation. “Don’t you think you had better go—at once?” suggested the skipper.
The doctor evidently did, for he disappeared; and Wyllard, who entered the saloon with the skipper, sat down at Agatha’s side.
“How do you do it?” she asked.
“What?” returned Wyllard, beginning his dinner.