“He was here on the beach after supper. We had a little chat together. He'd been uptown after some tobacco, and said he was going right out to the Schmidt, and would be spending the night there.”
“He hasn't been around since?”
“No—not here.”
“You haven't seen him?” This was addressed to Pink. Beveridge wheeled suddenly on him in asking it, and raised his voice with the idea of bullying him into a reply. But Pink shook his head.
“They wouldn't likely have lugged him across the pier with them. He may be on the Schmidt yet. How about it, Bert?”
“I don't think so. I looked around the cabin. Shall I look again?”
“Yes. We 'll wait here. You 'll have to hurry with it. We can't stay here more than ten minutes longer.”
Wilson was out of the room at a bound, down the steps and across the beach and running out on the long pier. In five minutes he was back.
“Well—”
“Not a soul there.”