“I guess the mate won’t be gone,” said he. “He’s main sick; never left the sick-bay aboard the Tempest; so they tell me.”
Jim shook me by the sleeve. “Back to the consulate,” said he.
But even at the consulate nothing was known of Mr. Goddedaal. The doctor of the Tempest had certified him very sick; he had sent his papers in, but never appeared in person before the authorities.
“Have you a telephone laid on to the Tempest?” asked Pinkerton.
“Laid on yesterday,” said the clerk.
“Do you mind asking, or letting me ask? We are very anxious to get hold of Mr. Goddedaal.”
“All right,” said the clerk, and turned to the telephone. “I’m sorry,” he said presently, “Mr. Goddedaal has left the ship, and no one knows where he is.”
“Do you pay the men’s passage home?” I inquired, a sudden thought striking me.
“If they want it,” said the clerk; “sometimes they don’t. But we paid the Kanaka’s passage to Honolulu this morning; and by what Captain Trent was saying, I understand the rest are going home together.”
“Then you haven’t paid them?” said I.