“Williams has considerable, I believe. I don’t think there is any in the forward house. The captain is a teetotaler.”
“I see. When these decanters go back, Williams takes charge of them?”
“Yes. He locks them away.”
He dropped his voice still lower.
“Empty them, Leslie,” he said. “Do you understand? Throw what is left overboard. And, if you get a chance at Williams’s key, pitch a dozen or two quarts overboard.”
“And be put in irons!”
“Not necessarily. I think you understand me. I don’t trust Williams. In a week we could have this boat fairly dry.”
“There is a great deal of wine.”
He scowled. “Damn Williams, anyhow! His instructions were—but never mind about that. Get rid of the whiskey.”
Turner coming up the companionway at that moment, Vail left me. I had understood him perfectly. It was common talk in the forecastle that Turner was drinking hard, and that, in fact, the cruise had been arranged by his family in the hope that, away from his clubs; he would alter his habits—a fallacy, of course. Taken away from his customary daily round, given idle days on a summer sea, and aided by Williams, the butler, he was drinking his head off.