“What have you been doing since you arrived here?”
“I was so fortunate as to become mate on the turbine yacht ‘The Walrus,’ owned by Mr. Stockwell.”
“Oh, that’s the multi-millionaire whose bank failed a month ago?”
“Yes, Madam.”
“But does he still keep a yacht?”
“No, Madam. I think he has never been aboard this one, although it is probably the most expensive boat in these waters. I am told it cost anywhere from half a million to a million. She was built by Thornycroft, like a cruiser, with Parson’s turbine engines in her. After the failure, Captain and crew were discharged, and I am on board as a sort of watchman until she is sold, but there is not a large market for a boat like ‘The Walrus,’ and I am told they will take the fittings out of her, and sell her as a cruiser to one of the South American republics.”
“Well, Mr. Johnson, you ought to be a reliable man, if the Court has put you in charge of so valuable a property.”
“I believe I am considered honest, Madam.”
“Then why do you come to me asking ten thousand dollars for a letter which you say was written to me, and which naturally belongs to me?”
The man’s face deepened into a mahogany brown, and he shifted his cap uneasily in his hands.