Part 98

There was no menace in his action, and the mate did not interfere.

“Just a word or two to you, sir, to show you that I have done more than throw my hat into the door of the Masters and Mates Association.” He leaned close and whispered. “Now let me tell you something else--in private?” he urged in low tones.

Captain Downs glanced again at the bared arm and surveyed this sailor with more careful scrutiny. “You go around and come into the for'ard cabin through the coach-house door,” he commanded, after a little hesitation.

Mayo bowed and hurried away down the lee alley.

That cabin designated as the place of conference was the dining-saloon of the schooner. He waited there until Captain Downs, moving his bulk more deliberately, trudged down the main companionway and came into the apartment through its after-door which no sailor was allowed to profane.

“Can anybody--in there--hear?” asked Mayo, cautiously. He pointed to the main saloon.

“She's in her stateroom and he's talking through the door,” grunted the skipper. “Now what's on your mind?”

Mayo reached his hand into an inside pocket of his shirt and drew forth a document. He laid it in Captain Downs's hand. The skipper sat down at the table, pulled out his spectacles, and adjusted them on his bulging nose in leisurely fashion, spread the paper on the red damask cloth, and studied it. He tipped down his head and stared at Mayo over the edge of his glasses with true astonishment.

“This your name in these master's papers?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir.”

“You're--you claim to be the Captain Mayo who smashed the Montana?”

“I'm the man, sir. I hung on to my papers, even though they have been canceled.”

“How do I know about these papers? How do I know your name is Mayo? You might have stolen 'em--though, for that matter, you might just as well carry a dynamite bomb around in your pocket, for all the good they'll do you.”

“That's the point, sir. They merely prove my identity. Nobody else would want them. Captain Downs, I'm running away from the law. I own up to you. Let me tell you how it happened.”

“Make it short,” snapped the captain, showing no great amiability toward this plucked and discredited master. “The wind is breezing up.”

He told his story concisely and in manly fashion, standing up while Captain Downs sat and stared over his spectacles, drumming his stubby fingers on the red damask.

“There, sir, that's why I am here and how I happened to get here,” Mayo concluded.

“I ain't prepared to say it isn't so,” admitted Old Mull at last, “no matter how foolish it sounds. And I'm wondering if next I'll find the King of Peruvia or the Queen of Sheba aboard this schooner. New folks are piling in fast! I know Captain Wass pretty well, though I never laid eye on you to know you. Where's that wart on his face?”

“Starboard side of his nose, sir.”

“What does he do, whittle off his chaw or bite the plug?”

“Neither. Chews fine cut.”

“What's his favorite line of talk?”

“Reciting the pilot rules and jawing because the big fellows slam along without observing them.”

“Last remark showing that you have been in the pilothouse along with Captain Wass! Examination is over and you rank one hundred and the board stands adjourned!” He rose and shook hands with Mayo. “Now what can I do for you?”

“I don't suppose you can do much of anything, Captain Downs. But I'm going to ask you this, master to masted. Don't let a soul aboard this schooner know who I am--especially those two back there!” He pointed to the door of the main saloon.

“Seems to be more or less of a masked-ball party aboard here!” growled the skipper.

“That man you call Bradish, whoever he is, knows what kind of a game they played on me. I want to get it out of him. If he knows who I am he won't loosen! I was a fool to break in as I did. He was coming across to you.”

“Seemed to be pretty gossipy,” admitted the captain. “Is trying to be my special chum so as to work me!”