“What the blazes——”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t find Mr. Bloem.”
“Can’t find him? You lazy swine—you haven’t looked! The ship’s small enough, isn’t it? What in Hell d’you mean?—can’t find him!”
“Gawd’s truth, sir. I looked everywhere, and Lopez and Abbot ’ve bin ’elping me. Mr. Bloem doesn’t seem to be on board.”
“Mr. Bloem is on board,” snarled Bittle. “Go and look again—and don’t come to me with any more excuses like that.”
And then came a startling interruption, that made Bittle go white and sent the girl to her feet with her heart leaping madly, for from somewhere on the lower deck aft rang out a cheerful hail that could have shaped itself in only one mouth, and that the mouth of a man who had died that afternoon.
“Ahoy, there, Bittle!”
Bittle shrank back, temporarily possessed by a superstitious terror. Patricia sprang forward, but he caught her and flung her on to the bunk with the strength of a maniac.
“Pat!” sang out that cheery voice. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Saint—— Oh, Saint, is that you?”