“Where’s the skipper?” they shouted. “Where’s Captain West?”
“There he is!” one of them shouted in dismay. “He’s gone ashore already.”
True enough. The moment the newshawks had come aboard the James Kennedy and spilled over her decks, Captain West had seized the chance to slip down the gangplank. Now he was hastening out of sight. He all but broke into a run when he heard the yell of the newsman who had identified him. But he slowed again when he saw that his path would take him past Mr. John Kennedy, the employer he had attempted to betray. His step faltered. He tried to lift his eyes to the level of Mr. Kennedy’s, to brazen it out. But he could not. His gaze fell.
He slunk by and disappeared in the darkness.
With a heavy sigh, Mr. Kennedy turned to the man beside him and said, “Come, Doctor—we’d better have a look at that James boy.”
The two men made their way up the gangplank.
“Sandy!” Mr. Kennedy exclaimed, when he caught sight of the tall, blond youth standing at the head of the ramp. “Goodness, boy, I’m certainly glad to see you.” His face took on a worried look and his eyes searched Sandy Steele’s lanky frame. “You’re all right, aren’t you, boy? I mean, I certainly wouldn’t want John Steele holding me responsible for—”
“Oh, I’m fine, sir,” Sandy said, smiling. “Just a bit hungry, that’s all.”
“We’ll fix that soon enough,” Mr. Kennedy vowed. “But let’s have a look at your friend first. Where is he?”
“Down below, sir. Here, I’ll lead the way.”