"Well, there was a bit of a crush," observed Dick diplomatically.
"You young ass!" ejaculated his brother. "I suppose you know the water's teeming with sharks?"
Dick admitted that he was aware of the unpleasant fact. He had seen them following the yacht soon after she left Suez.
"How did you get on board again?" asked Bobby.
"Trevear hauled me up with a rope," replied Dick simply. "I wasn't in for more than fifteen seconds."
"Time enough for you to have been bitten in two," rejoined Bobby. "All right, carry on and wipe up the mess. I want to turn in."
He went out, leaving Dick to complete his self-appointed task, to seek Trevear and gain further particulars, since his brother was obviously "lying low".
He found the R.A.F. pilot talking French as spoken on the Somme in 1918 to a pair of children whose home was at Oléron in the Department of the Basses-Pyrénées. The result was not altogether a success, although by a wealth of dumb show Trevear contrived to keep the children amused.
"They've shoved me in charge of the crèche, old bird," he observed. "Know it's no use offering you a cigarette; try some of this."
He extended a well-used and bulky tobacco-pouch.