“Take a seat. He’ll be up in a moment. Reggie, my boy, go and hurry him up.”
I went down to George’s state-room.
“George, old man!” I shouted.
No answer. I opened the door and went in. The room was empty. What’s more, the bunk hadn’t been slept in. I don’t know when I’ve been more surprised. I went on deck.
“He isn’t there,” I said.
“Not there!” said old Marshall. “Where is he, then? Perhaps he’s gone for a stroll ashore. But he’ll be back soon for breakfast. You’d better wait for him. Have you breakfasted? No? Then will you join us?”
The man said he would, and just then the gong went and they trooped down, leaving me alone on deck.
I sat smoking and thinking, and then smoking a bit more, when I thought I heard somebody call my name in a sort of hoarse whisper. I looked over my shoulder, and, by Jove, there at the top of the gangway in evening dress, dusty to the eyebrows and without a hat, was dear old George.
“Great Scot!” I cried.
“‘Sh!” he whispered. “Anyone about?”