"It seems a pity
that I should have been compelled to miss my train to town."
"A practical joke!" the captain repeated. "If it is I'm damned if I
understand the point of it!"
"Give me the envelope which held the notes," Crawshay demanded.
The captain unlocked his safe and produced it. Crawshay glanced through
some of the documents hastily.
"These are all bogus, too!" he exclaimed. "There are no such streets as
this in New York--no such names. The whole thing's a sell!"
"But what the--what in thunder does it all mean?" the captain demanded,
pulling himself up as he glanced towards Katharine.
Brightman, who had scarcely spoken a word, leaned across the table.
"Probably," he said drily, "it means that some one a little cleverer than
us has got away with the real stuff whilst we played around with this
rubbish."
"But how?" Crawshay expostulated. "Not a soul has left this ship who hasn't
been searched to the skin. The luggage in the hold is going out trunk by
trunk, after every cubic foot has been ransacked. We have had a guard at
every gangway since we were docked."
There was a knock at the door. The ship's doctor entered. He glanced at the
little company and hesitated.
"I beg your pardon, Captain," he said, "could I have a word with you?"
The captain moved towards the threshold.
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