The skipper’s voice bellowed through the general call speakers all over the ship:
“Mr. Taine! You will go to your quarters, under arrest! Mr. Baird, burn him down if he hesitates!”
Then there was a rushing, and scrambling figures appeared and were all about. They were members of the Niccola’s crew, sent by the skipper. They regarded the Plumie with detachment, but Taine with a wary expectancy. Taine turned purple with fury. He shouted. He raged. He called Baird and the others Plumie-lovers and vermin-worshipers. He shouted foulnesses at them. But he did not attack.
When, still shouting, he went away, Baird said apologetically to the Plumie:
“He’s a xenophobe. He has a pathological hatred of strangers—even of strangeness. We have him on board because—”
Then he stopped. The Plumie wouldn’t understand, of course. But his eyes took on a curious look. It was almost as if, looking at Baird, they twinkled.
Baird took him back to the skipper.
“He’s got the picture, sir,” he reported.
The Plumie pulled out his sketch plate. He drew on it. He offered it. The skipper said heavily:
“You guessed right, Mr. Baird. He suggests that someone from this ship go on board the Plumie vessel. He’s drawn two pressure-suited figures going in their air lock. One’s larger than the other. Will you go?”