In spite of the clammy fog her cheeks shone with the glow of youth—a healthy glow that told unfailingly of an active, outdoor life.
"Jolly pretty girl, that," commented Peter, communing with his own thoughts.
The very last passenger to come over the side—Peter paid no attention to him—was a young, athletic man carrying a travel-worn leather portmanteau. With the air of one accustomed to life on shipboard he stepped briskly off the end of the gangplank and made straight for the saloon.
On the passenger list he appeared as William Porter, of Durban. Not one of the West Barbican's officers realized what viper the good ship was cherishing in her bosom; for in Berlin William Porter would have answered readily and truthfully to the name of Ludwig Schoeffer.
CHAPTER IX
A Quiet Trick
Some of the incidents in this chapter are based upon actual facts recorded in The Signal. The author takes this opportunity to express his thanks to the editor of that journal for permission, readily granted, to make use of certain incidents here recorded.
Mostyn made his way to the wireless-cabin to find his two satellites standing by according to orders.
"Well, all right now?" asked Peter solicitously.