I remained silent, staring out across the water, endeavoring to reconcile his statements, and wondering what message it was I had dropped into the deep.
"What are those lights off yonder?" I asked, at length, pointing.
"Shore lights."
"Then we are steering east?"
"A bit south of east, yes; odd course for Honduras, you think?"
I nodded, willing enough to let him talk.
"We are playing the game safe, Craig; that's all," he explained, both hands gripping the rail. "You see we cleared for Santiago, and are not anxious to be seen and reported by any west-bound ships. We are keeping well to the north of their course now, and tomorrow will be hidden among the islands off the west Florida coast. Then, as soon as it is dark, we will shoot out under full steam, into the Gulf. The chances are we 'll cross the lane unobserved; if we should intercept a liner, she won't identify us in the dark, as we burn no lights. By daylight we 'll be well beyond their look-outs, and can steer a straight course."
Vague as my memory was regarding the Gulf and its surrounding coast line, this explanation seemed reasonable enough, and I remained silent, gazing off across the water. He did not speak again, yet the very proximity of the man irritated me, my dislike and distrust of him so deep rooted that I could scarcely bear his near presence. I wanted to be alone, where I could think out some feasible scheme of escape.
"I have had enough for tonight," I said finally, "and am going to turn in."
"Best thing you can do," he coincided, but without looking toward me. "Will follow suit as soon as I smoke a cigarette. See you tomorrow."