“As you run down the gangway to the waiting boat, hold your handkerchief over that Irish mug of yours. Pretend you're blowing your nose. The man in the boat won't recognize you until you're on top of him.”
“Wan little love tap—no more!” Terence breathed lovingly.
“When Terence has tapped him, Sam,” Cappy continued, “you go down and help to get him out on the landing stage. He'll be off our hands there and the submarine people cannot see what's happened to him. They're still lying on our starboard beam.”
Terence and the deadly Samuel disappeared, to return presently and report all well. Thereupon Michael J. Murphy retired to the port side of the house, lit a kerosene torch he had brought up from the engine room and waved it. He waited. Presently, in the gloom off to port, he saw the red and green side lights of the little cruiser. For a moment both lights were visible; then the master of the Narcissus, now in charge of the cruiser, ported his helm and showed his red only. Murphy waited, and presently both red and green showed again.
“Starboard now, and show your green,” Murphy pleaded.
The red went out and the green alone showed; so Mike Murphy extinguished his torch and rejoined Cappy Ricks, Terence and the ubiquitous Mr. Daniels.
“Sam, my dear boy,” Cappy was saying as Murphy came up, “Mike and Terence own in the Narcissus and they work for me—hence their alliance. You owe me no fealty—”
“The hell I don't, Cap!” Sam retorted lightly. “You're a fine old sport, and I'm for you till the last dog is hung.”
“Sam, I am deeply grateful. Your friendship is very dear to me indeed. I have a twenty-two-thousand acre ranch down in Monterey County, California—don't know why I bought it, unless it was because it was a bargain and ranch property in California is bound to increase in value—and you're my foreman if we ever get out of this with a whole skin. I'll make it the best job you ever had, Sam.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ricks!” A moment before it had been Cap. “If you never saw a man fight for a good job before, just watch me!”