at last. The tug has come: I sent for it days and days ago. But we can get off, now. But the captain. . . . Where is the captain? He shouldn’t be asleep, at this time. Of all times for the captain to be asleep—Mr. Talliaferro—”
“But Gordon,” Mark Frost said, “how about—”
Miss Jameson clutched his arm. “Let’s get off, first,” she said.
“I called him,” Mr. Talliaferro reminded them. “He must be asleep in his room.”
“He must be asleep,” Mrs. Maurier repeated. “Will some gentleman—”
Mr. Talliaferro took his cue. “I’ll go,” he said.
“If you will be so kind,” Mrs. Maurier screamed after him. She stared again at the tug. “He should have been here, so we could be all ready to start,” she said fretfully. She waved her handkerchief at the tug: it ignored her.
“We might be getting everything ready, though,” Fairchild suggested. “We ought to have everything ready when they pull us off.”
“That’s so,” Mark Frost agreed. “We’d better run down and pack, hadn’t we?”
“Ah, we ain’t going back home yet. We've just started the cruise. Are we, folks?”
They all looked at the hostess. She roved her stricken eyes, but she said at last, bravely: “Why, no. No, of course not, if you don’t want to. . . . But the captain: we ought to be ready,” she repeated.
“Well, let’s get ready,” Mrs. Wiseman said.
“Nobody knows anything about boats except Fairchild,” Mark Frost said. Mr. Talliaferro returned, barren.
“Me?” Fairchild repeated. “Talliaferro’s been across the whole ocean. And there’s Major Ayers. All Britishers cut their teeth on anchor chains and marlinspikes.”
