"Has he just come round?" he asked,
No, she said; he had been conscious for some hours, and she went serenely away, leaving Grant wondering what had passed between patient and nurse in those few hours. Drysdale joined him at breakfast, with his queer mixture of taciturnity and amiability, and arranged that he should have a real day's fishing as an offset to the distracted flogging of the water which had occupied him Yesterday. Grant said that, once Anderson had been and he had heard a report of his man, he would go. He sup-posed any telegrams could be sent down to him.
"Oh, yes; there's nothing Pidgeon likes like being important. He's in his element at the moment."
Dr. Anderson, a little man in ancient and none too clean tweeds, said that the patient was very well indeed — even his memory was unimpaired — but he would advise Grant, whom he took to be the man's nearest friend, not to see him until this evening. It would be best to give him a day to be quiet in. And since Miss Dinmont seemed determined to look after him, they need have no fear about him. She was an excellent nurse.
"When can he travel?" asked Grant. "We're in a hurry to get south."
"If it is very important, the day after to-morrow, perhaps." And seeing Grant look disappointed, "Or even tomorrow, if the journey were made comfortable. It all depends on the comfort of the travel. But I wouldn't recommend it till the day after to-morrow at the earliest."
"What's the hurry?" Drysdale said. "Why spoil the ship for a ha'p'orth of tar?"
"Afraid of loose moorings," Grant said.
"Don't worry. The excellent Pidgeon will dote on being head warder."
Then Grant turned to the surprised doctor and explained the truth of the situation. "There's no chance of his getting away if we let him stay here till he is stronger?"