“Can’t find enough to do myself, let alone make work for a new man. If this keeps up—— Hold on. While I think of it, that chap Flint, my third, asked me to-day if I thought there was a chance for him in the navy. Now if he got a month off to go to the nearest place he could pass his examinations and file his application——”
“The sure-enough right thing! Let him take a month, and put this feller on until Flint comes back. Come on up topside and talk to him.”
The result of the conversation was that two men, at least, were made happy that evening—Flint, who had got unexpected leave for a month, and Beltramo, who had got a temporary billet.
But Drake was not on the ship when the shift was made. In the roughest suit of clothes he could muster he had gone ashore and made his way to a not too-clean bar, where he knew that pilots were wont to gather. There he patiently waited for the arrival of one he knew. The man came at last, and Captain Eli drew him into a little private room at the rear.
“Christophe,” Captain Eli said, “I have done you a favor once or twice, and you’re the kind of man that likes to repay. Well, the time has come when you may be of use. Now first, you’ve got to keep your mouth shut—not one word—not one word to anybody, not even your wife, of what we say here in this room.”
The pilot, whose face was seamed with years and sea service, promptly lifted his hand and swore an oath that would have satisfied any band of conspirators that ever existed.
“First, you know this sea as well as any one, I take it?”
“By Heaven! Better than all save one or two. Was I not a fisherman in these waters when old enough to float? I know every foot of it and every reef, and every island and——”
“Good!” Captain Eli interrupted. He leaned across the little table between them and lowered his voice. “Christophe, if you were going to sink a ship that was supposed to be bound eastward—say for Jaffa—where would you do it?”
For a moment the pilot’s mouth hung open and his eyes were wide, as if he feared for Drake’s sanity.