“Oh, there's no hurry, Mr. Ricks. She'll be delayed from half to three-quarters of an hour waiting for the Australian mail. The mail train from the East is late, and of course the Moana cannot sail till—”
“You will pardon me, captain,” Cappy Ricks interrupted politely, “but I've just thought of a very important matter. I must run and telephone.”
As J. Augustus Redell had just pointed out, twenty minutes was scarcely ample time in which to decide on the right emissary to send to Papeete, get into communication with the said individual and induce him to go. In addition, such a person would have to have time to pack some clothing; also, to procure a letter of credit at the bank and purchase a ticket, not to mention the time requisite to receive his instructions and get to the steamer's dock. But with almost an hour—well, a wide-awake man can accomplish much in an hour, and Cappy Ricks was a natural leader of forlorn hopes. In the brief interval required to accomplish the journey from the door of the Merchants' Exchange to a telephone booth a flock of bright ideas capered through Cappy's ingenious head like goats on a tin roof.
“Main 2000!” he barked, and in five seconds he had the connection. “Put Skinner on the line!”
Cappy's own private exchange operator had the temerity to inform him that Mr. Skinner was out at luncheon.
“The in-fer-nal scoundrel—just when I need him! Put Captain Matt Peasley on the line, and be quick about it. Matt! Matt, listen! This is the old man speaking. Get an earful of what I'm going to tell you now, and don't ask any questions—just obey! Do you remember that big German freighter—the Valkyrie—sunk in Papeete Harbor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She's a prize, Matt. I've just been given a low-down on her condition. Gus Redell is leaving on the Moana to bid her in at the government sale—the young scoundrel told me all about it and twitted me because we were asleep on the job and let the good thing get away from us. The Moana's supposed to sail at one o'clock, but the Eastern mail is late—she won't get away from the dock until about one-thirty; but when she does—”
“When she does we'll have a man aboard her to beat Redell to the German steamer,” Matt Peasley interrupted. “I've got the message. Where are you, father-in-law?”
“At the Merchants' Exchange.”