“Hello, yourself,” Mr. William Geary replied, and Dolores knew him for an American. “Do you happen to have as a passenger this trip a large, interesting person, by name John Stuart Webster?” added Billy Geary.
“I don't know, Billy. I'll look over the passenger-list.”
“No hope,” Billy replied mournfully. “If Jack Webster was aboard he'd have got acquainted with you. However, take a look-see to make certain.”
“Friend of yours?” the purser queried.
“You bet. Likewise guide and philosopher. He should have been here on the last steamer—cabled me he was coming, and I haven't heard a word from him since. I'm a little worried.”
“I'll get the list,” the purser announced, and together they moved off toward his office. Dolores followed, drawn by the mention of that magic name Webster, and paused in front of the purser's office to lean over the rail, ostensibly to watch the cargadores in their lighters clustering around the great ship, but in reality to learn more of the mysterious Webster.
“Blast the luck,” Billy Geary growled, “the old sinner isn't here. Gosh, that's worse than having a note called on a fellow. By the way, do you happen to have a Miss Dolores Ruey aboard?”
Dolores pricked up her little ears. What possible interest could this stranger have in her goings or comings?
“You picked a winner this time, Bill,” she heard the purser say. “Stateroom Sixteen, boat-deck, starboard side. You'll probably find her there, packing to go ashore.”
“Thanks,” Billy replied and stepped out of the purser's office. Dolores turned and faced him.