"I should say! He wouldn't have taken the chances he did."
"Well," I announced, "at any rate, I can say it now—there's another 'mystery of the sea' gone to pot."
McCord lifted his heavy lids.
"No," he mumbled. "The mystery is that a man who has been to sea all his life could sail around for three days with a man bundled up in his top and not know it. When I think of him peeking down at me—and playing off that damn cat—probably without realizing it—scared to death—by gracious! Ridgeway, there was a pair of funks aboard this craft, eh? Wow—yow—I could sleep—"
"I should think you could."
McCord did not answer.
"By the way," I speculated. "I guess you were right about Björnsen, McCord—that is, his fooling with the foretop. He must have been caught all of a bunch, eh?"
Again McCord failed to answer. I looked up mildly surprised, and found his head hanging back over his chair and his mouth opened wide. He was asleep.
[C] Reprinted by permission of the author and Messrs. Harper & Brothers.