“Yes; but he doesn’t seem to be here. He was put off at Saginaw.”
“I know he was, but he didn’t stay put off. He is somewhere on this boat now.”
“My gracious!” gasped Guy, squeezing himself closer against the bulk-head.
“Oh, you’re mistaken,” said the steward, with some surprise in his tones. “I saw him go off myself.”
“And I saw him come back,” insisted Bob. “He is concealed somewhere among the cargo.”
“Humph!” exclaimed the engineer, who, while he pretended to be very busy rubbing down the machinery, was listening to every word of the conversation. “How could he live three days without a bite to eat or a drop to drink?”
“That’s easy enough done when one makes up his mind to it,” said Bob. “He’s on this vessel, and I know it. He is as deep in the mud as I am, and I don’t want to go back without him. Won’t you look for him, Mr. Officer?”
“No, I guess not,” answered the detective, who put more faith in the steward’s story than he did in Bob’s. “I’ll find him, sooner or later—you needn’t worry about that. We’d better go along now. Come on.”
Bob might still have continued to argue the matter, had not the detective taken him gently but firmly by the arm and led him down the gang-plank.
Guy, from his place of concealment, watched him until he disappeared in the darkness, and that was the last he ever saw of him.