“Be jabers, Mr. Cooke,” said McCann, “and I'm beginning to think it is!
“He took off his cap and scratched his head.
“Well, McCann, I hope you're contented,” I said.
“Mr. Crocker,” said he, “and it's that thankful I am for you that the gent ain't here. But with him cutting high finks up at Mr. Cooke's house with a valet, and him coming on the yacht with yese, and the whole country in that state about him, begorra,” said McCann, “and it's domned strange! Maybe it's swimmin' in the water he is!”
The whole party had followed the search, and at this speech of the chief's our nervous tension became suddenly relaxed. Most of us sat down to laugh.
“I'm asking no questions, Mr. Crocker, ye'll take notice,” he remarked, his voice full of reproachful meaning.
“McCann,” said I, “you come outside. I want to speak to you.”
He followed me out.
“Now,” I went on, “you know me pretty well” (he nodded doubtfully), “and if I give you my word that Charles Wrexell Allen is not on this yacht, and never has been, is that sufficient?”
“Is it the truth you're saying, sir?”