“Well, they are facts.... You see, Mr. Neeland, we English sailors of the merchant marine are also part of the naval reserve. And we are supposed to know these things.”
Neeland was silent.
“Mr. Neeland,” he said, “in case of war between the various powers of Europe as aligned today, where do you imagine your sympathy would lie—and the sympathies of America?”
“Both with France and England,” said Neeland bluntly.
“You think so?”
“Yes, I do—unless they are the aggressors.”
The captain nodded:
“I feel rather that way myself. I feel very sure of the friendliness of your country. Because of course we—France and England—never would dream of attacking 221 the Central Powers unless first assailed.” He smiled, nodded toward the box on the floor: “Don’t you think, Mr. Neeland, that it might be safer to entrust those—that box, I mean—to the captain of the Royal Mail steamer, Volhynia?”
“Yes, I do,” said Neeland quietly.
“And—about these spies. Do you happen to entertain any particular suspicions concerning any of the passengers on my ship?” urged the captain.