He tasted his drink with open relish. "Prime Scotch," he judged. "One grows momentarily more reconciled to the prospect of a long voyage."
"Make the most of it," Phinuit counselled. "Remember our next port of call is the Great American Desert. After all, the despised camel seems to have had the right idea all along."
He gaped enormously behind a superstitious hand. Monk, returning, published an elaborate if silent superciliary comment on the tableau.
"He has no faith at all in our good intentions," Phinuit explained, eyeing Lanyard with mild reproach. "It's most discouraging."
"Monsieur suffers from insomnia?" Monk asked in his turn.
"Under certain circumstances."
"Ever take anything for it?"
"To-night it would require nothing less than possession of the Montalais jewels to put me to sleep."
"Well, if you manage to lay hands on them without our consent," Phinuit promised genially, "you'll be put to sleep all right."
"But don't let me keep you up, messieurs."