Page:Arthur Stringer - The Hand of Peril.djvu/108

 the meal that ensued. Kestner's sense of depression seemed to have forsaken him. He became more communicative, more interested in the people about him. Yet twice he deserted the table on the excuse of a telephone-call, and twice Wilsnach was left to listen idly to the music and stare at the multi-coloured raiment of the white-shouldered women and ponder over Kestner's prolonged absence.

Wilsnach knew by the other's air of abstraction as he resumed his seat that something out of the ordinary was in the air. And knowing his man, he was content to wait. But time slipped by, and still Kestner sat in a brown study.

"I suppose we ought to be getting aboard that steamer," suggested Wilsnach after a listless glance at his watch.

Kestner stared across the rose-shaded table at him. The music of the distant orchestra was pleasing to the ear; the coffee had been irreproachable; and Kestner's fresh cigar was precisely his idea of what a cigar should be.

"Why?" he asked with half-humorous indolence. The lazy tone of that question made Wilsnach look up. For the latter had long since learned that when his friend was most somnolent of eye he was most alert of mind.

"Because by daylight we've got to be out on the rolling deep."

"Wilsnach, that's where you're wrong," quietly announced the other man.

"In what way?" inquired Wilsnach, feeling, for all