Mackay thrust his grizzled head into the cabin. He bent down over the sleeping man and sniffed audibly.
"The man's drunk!" he remarked casually.
My conscience smote me. But then I reflected. Could one "peg" have reduced the model Carstairs to this state? Unless, of course, he had already been drinking that evening. I had detected no signs of it about him....
"I wonder if I should fetch the doctor...." I began.
"Hoots!" broke in the engineer, "let the man bide. He's a gude lad but, mon, he'll have a sore heid to-morrow! I'm thinkin' Sir Alec wull gie him all the doctorin' he wants!"
"After all," said I, "I don't think we need disturb the doctor!"
Custrin's curiosity about the message, the inexplicable disappearance of my key, the drink the doctor had prepared for me which I had given to Carstairs and the servant's drunken stupor, Custrin's visit to my cabin.... my mind sprang from rung to rung in this ladder of curious happenings. What had John Bard told me about El Cojo's gang?.... "a tremendous organisation with an immense network of spies as widespread and efficient as the Mafia of Italy!"
My hand went instinctively to the inside pocket of my pyjamas, a pocket with a button-up flap specially designed, which has rendered me good service in sleeping-cars and cabins half round the world. I felt beneath my fingers the crackle of the oilskin in its flannel cover.
I held my secret still guarded. I congratulated myself on my firmness in refusing to let this persistent Master Custrin accompany the expedition. But we had not yet reached the island. I must be watchful, watchful....
*****