I put my hand to my chin. “Not ill,” I said; “merely unshaven.”
“But you are pale, and your eyes are sunk in your head.”
“We are very short-handed and—no one has slept much.”
“Or eaten at all, I imagine,” she said. “When do we get in?”
“I can hardly say. With this wind, perhaps Tuesday.”
“Where?”
“Philadelphia.”
“You intend to turn the yacht over to the police?”
“Yes, Miss Lee.”
“Every one on it?”