'I was told distinctly that this was the Rotterdam boat.'
'So it is, sir, in a way—it is the Rotterdam, bound for Antwerp. Where was you going to?'
Goring explained, on which the steward mixed himself a glass of grog, laughed, and said it was a jolly mistake. Goring, however, failed to see the jollity of it, and began to consult a railway guide to trace out his route from Antwerp the moment he landed there, by Breda, to the city on the Maese.
While thus employed, he asked the steward if he had heard of a collision some time ago near the mouth of that river, in which an English yacht had suffered.
'Yes, sir,' replied the steward, 'but it wasn't quite off the mouth of the Maese.'
'Where, then?'
'More to the south'ard—somewhere off the coast of Walchern.'
'It was Lord Cadbury's yacht.'
'Yes, sir, so I heard.'
'What happened?' asked Goring, making an effort to control himself and conceal his agitation, which was totally unperceived by the steward, who was collecting from the table all the glasses and decanters left by the passengers, who were now rolled up in rugs, and stowed away in their berths or on lockers.