“Yes; but if you see him first don't tell him you've seen me.”
The captain nodded and considered, and walked for'ard on his own deck to keep abreast of the faster vessel.
“Say!” he called. “Jacobsen told me they were coming down this afternoon to Gabera. Said they were going to lay there to-night and take on sweet potatoes.”
“Gabera has the only leading lights in the Solomons,” Grief said, when his schooner had drawn well ahead. “Is that right, Captain Ward?”
The captain nodded.
“And the little bight just around the point on this side, it's a rotten anchorage, isn't it?”
“No anchorage. All coral patches and shoals, and a bad surf. That's where the Molly went to pieces three years ago.”
Grief stared straight before him with lustreless eyes for a full minute, as if summoning some vision to his inner sight. Then the corners of his eyes wrinkled and the ends of his yellow mustache lifted in a smile.
“We'll anchor at Gabera,” he said. “And run in close to the little bight this side. I want you to drop me in a whaleboat as you go by. Also, give me six boys, and serve out rifles. I'll be back on board before morning.”
The captain's face took on an expression of suspicion, which swiftly slid into one of reproach.