“And so—”
Cray leaned closer.
“Get this. There’s two men we ain’t searched yet—Drake and Quayle. Either one, mebbe—”
The old captain rose.
“We’ll start with Quayle, eh?” He made for the door, but he stopped, turned. “You put that into my head, damn ye!”
“What if I did?” Cray cried. “What if I did? Since you have no detective aboard, what price Cray, hey?”
“What price Cray? I’ll tell ye. I’d as soon to God we had a detective aboard,” the captain growled. “That’s what price Cray!” He stumped out.
The wireless man got up slowly and idled about the cabin as if it were his own. That last remark of the skipper’s had hit him.
“A detective,” said Cray softly. “Maybe we have, at that, my brave old sea-dog. Maybe we have, at that.”
He followed the captain on deck and twitched his sleeve. He drew him into a corner.