“He’s not on board!”
“Sakes alive!” murmured Brentin. “That’s awkward!—for Mr. Parsons,” he considerately added.
My sister said “Good gracious, Vincent!” while with her silver pencil Miss Rybot began to draw poor Teddy’s insignificant profile on the back of one of the thousand-franc notes.
I took a perturbed turn or two up and down the saloon.
“He can’t have fallen overboard?” ventured Masters.
“How could he, if he didn’t even come off in either of the boats?” some one replied.
There was another pause, and then I asked:
“How closely were you followed?”
“Why, not at all,” said Brentin. “After we loosed off the guns they all ran back.”
“Did anybody see Teddy after we got down the steps?”