Instead, he watched the sailing boat, from which the man had been taken, fade in the distance.
“We’ll let it stand at that,” he said quietly. “In the meantime, where were you going?”
“Going from Bacaray to Belize in that worthless sailboat manned by spotted Caribs. My motor boat was wrecked in the storm. The sail boat was becalmed, and there we were. Lay there for ten hours.”
“Belize?” Johnny wrinkled his brow. He did not wish to touch at this capitol of British Honduras. The Fruit Company was strong there. Who could tell but that fruit inspectors or health inspectors, in sympathy with the Fruit Company, perhaps bribed by them, would hold his ship off those shores until his bananas were overripe and ruined.
“Having him on board makes it worse,” he told himself. Again his brow wrinkled.
A happy thought struck him.
“You are planning to stay in Belize for some time?”
“Going back to New York on our boat the Arion. She was to touch at Belize. Took on her load at Puerte Baras.”
Johnny heaved a sigh of relief. “The Arion sailed six hours ago. It gives me great pleasure to offer you my stateroom and a passage to New York.”
Johnny’s smile irritated the man. His face turned red. He seemed about to choke.