Mr. Lewis was at the point of making a reply when the captain of the ship strode up, on his face a scowl.
“It seems that there has been a slight mistake in our reckoning,” he said. “We are seventy nautical miles to the north.”
CHAPTER XIII
The Lost Scientist
THERE was a buzz of muffled conversation among the passengers, and before anyone could ask anything further, the captain had disappeared into the cabin.
“This is a fine howdy-do,” snorted Joe Lewis, peering out at the shoreline. “What do they take us for, a bunch of livestock?”
“Jove!” exclaimed one of the passengers, looking up through his large glasses. “The bally ship is a good half day’s journey from Mombasa.”
“It’s a horrible shame, that’s what it is,” came from Cecil Purl Stone, who also was at the rail. “Here I am in perfect readiness to look upon Mombasa, and this had to happen. I’m going straight to my suite.”