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The canny Scot, whose name was Mackintosh, hesitated a few moments, then
answered--
"Well, sir, you see the fishing-boat had sighted us, and we saw her
turning back to port to fetch help."
His excuse was a neat one. Probably it was his neglect to make signals
of distress that had aroused the suspicions of the Captain of the Port.
From first to last the story of the master of the _Lola_ was, I
considered, a very unsatisfactory one.
"How long have you been in Mr. Hornby's service?" I inquired.
"Six months, sir," was the man's reply. "Before he engaged me, I was
with the Wilsons, of Hull, running up the Baltic."
"As master?"
"I've held my master's certificate these fifteen years, sir. I was with
the Bibbys before the Wilsons, and before that with the General Steam.
I did eight years in the Mediterranean with them, when I was chief
mate."
"And you've never been into Leghorn before?"
"Never, sir."
I dismissed the captain with a distinct impression that he had not told
me the whole truth.


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