"It will be for you if you don't take care," rejoined the purser severely. "We haven't a full passenger list, but we've got to keep our end up, even though we're not a crack liner."
"Who are they?" asked Mostyn.
"A Colonel Vivian and his wife and daughter," replied Holmes. "They are only going as far as Honolulu—dodging the Canadian winter I should imagine. There's a Mr. Tarrant. He's in the Consular Service, and is bound for Kobe. The last is Mr. Miles. I don't know what he is, but I rather fancy he's a drummer working for a Montreal drug store. Anyone know if the Old Man's aboard yet?"
"Yes, he came aboard with the Chief," replied the wireless officer, "about five minutes before I came below."
"Why on earth didn't you say so before?" demanded Withers, making a precipitate rush for the door. "I didn't expect Angus before eight bells, and——"
"Evidently friend Withers has left undone those things that he ought to have done," observed Holmes. "Get a move on, you fellows. Nothing like punctuality for meals, 'specially when I want a run ashore after dinner."
Twenty minutes later officers and passengers assembled in the saloon for dinner. Although lacking the luxurious trappings of a first-class liner's saloon, the Donibristle's was quite a comfortable, well-equipped apartment. Electric lights in frosted glass bulbs with amber shades threw a warm, subdued light upon the long table. The snow-white table-cloth looked dainty with glittering cutlery and plate. Choice Californian flowers—bought that afternoon in Vancouver by the messman, presumably to create a good initial impression upon the passengers—completed the display.
At the head of the table sat Captain Roger Blair, R.N.R., a short, thick-set Tynesider, whose war record included service in the North Sea, the AEgean, and outer patrol work on the edge of the Arctic Circle. He had been twice in collision and torpedoed on four occasions; yet, until the surrender of the German Fleet, he had never set eyes on a Hun submarine. He was inclined to be irritable as a result of the nervous strain of four and a half years in mine-infested waters under war conditions; but, in spite of being nearly fifty-four years of age, he was accounted one of the finest and most reliable skippers in the company's service.
On his right was Mrs. Vivian, a frail and rather subdued lady with a distinctly nervous manner. Next to her was Colonel Vivian, huge, burly, and bronzed. His features were clear cut, but a rather heavy chin and a military moustache gave the casual observer an impression that the colonel was a severe and stern man. In point of fact he was when in command of a regiment, but in retirement he was jovial and good-natured, and simply doted on his wife and daughter.
Hilda Vivian had been placed on the Captain's left, consequently Alwyn Burgoyne, far down the table, saw but little of her except a partial view of an attractive profile.