In fifteen minutes Captain Saunders was on our deck, angrily declaring that Captain Tucker’s procedure was an outrage. At that moment my arm was pulled by Bill Nye, an old sailor.
“I ax yer pardon, sir,” he said in a loud whisper, “but that ain’t Capt’n Saunders, it’s Captain John Linscot of Halifax. I’se sailed with him more’n once to the West Indies.”
“Come with me, Bill!” I said, leading him aft.
Reaching the two captains I announced:
“Captain Tucker, here’s a man who wishes to throw a little light on the question you are trying to settle.”
“What is it, Bill?” the Captain inquired, while his prisoner suddenly stopped talking and stared at the old sailor.
“I only wishes to say, sir, that I know that man. I’se sailed more’n once with him. He’s Capt’n John Linscot of Halifax.”
“Man, you are mistaken,” thundered the discomfited skipper.
“We shall soon know,” Captain Tucker remarked quietly. “Lieutenant Stiles is returning.”
A minute or two later the yawl touched the schooner’s side, and the executive officer, leaping to her deck, crossed over to where the captain was standing. Saluting him he reported: