“Pretty nice boat,” said the other, his eyes traveling swiftly from one to another of the quartet. “Which of you is Spencer Floyd, now?”
“None of us,” answered Nelson.
“Well, I got a message for him,” said the officer. “You tell him I want to see him, will you?”
“He isn’t here,” said Nelson.
“I want to know!” drawled the officer. “Ain’t drowned him, have you?”
“No, he isn’t drowned. He just isn’t here.”
“Well, well! Don’t mind my lookin’ about a little, I guess?”
“No, you’re perfectly welcome to, sir. Come aboard, please.”
The officer followed and looked admiringly over the launch while Nelson unlocked the cabin door. Then they all trooped down into the cabin and the officer satisfied himself that the runaway was indeed not there.
“Much obliged, gentlemen,” he said at last. “I see he ain’t here. I guess you don’t care to tell me where he is, do you?”