Bull shook his head and said, “Why’ntcha say so inna first place?” and started toward Jerry and Sandy.
Once again Sandy tensed. If only his luck would hold and he could get through without having Bull find the flare gun! Otherwise....
He watched as Bull patted Jerry, none too gently. He realized that, if Jerry had been wearing a jacket under which to hide the flare gun, it would surely have been discovered. Soon Bull was finished with Jerry, and it was Sandy’s turn. Bull frisked him quickly and clumsily, patting his chest and under his arms, even though it was obvious that he couldn’t possibly have hidden anything there. Bull’s big hands continued down to Sandy’s pockets, hesitated for a moment, and stopped right there. He turned to face Jones.
“They’re clean,” he said.
Jones nodded, not paying too much attention to Bull or to the search. “I didn’t think that they would have had the foresight to bring any weapons. Still—there’s no sense taking any chances. In this business, one can’t be too careful.”
Noticing that Jones was not looking directly at either Bull or themselves as he said all this, Sandy followed his gaze to the upper decks of the freighter, wondering what he was looking for. A door swung open and a man stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine. Jones rose, waved to the man and called, “Captain! Come down! We have a little surprise for you!”
Sandy had not known what to expect of the captain of such a ship as this, but surely, the man who came down the ladder did not look in the least like anything he might have imagined! He would not have been really surprised by a bearded giant, or another tough, such as one of the crew, or even, perhaps, by a turbaned oriental—but this captain was surely a complete surprise!
He was a thin, wispy-looking old man—how old, Sandy could not begin to guess—with a face like a wise preacher’s or perhaps a college professor’s. He was dressed entirely in white, down to his old-fashioned white high-buttoned shoes, and he carried a bamboo cane with a gold head. To finish off this spotless outfit, so out of keeping with his ship, the Captain wore a pith helmet, such as British officers wear in the tropics!
The old man moved briskly down the steep ladder from the upper decks and, with scarcely a glance at the boys, addressed himself to Jones.
“Who are these children?” he asked, his voice thin and reedy, but carrying authority and as sharp as the crack of a whip.