In the main cabin were four Pullman berths that folded into the wall, and Mr. Browning said Catty and I were to sleep there. He showed us how to take them down, and there they were, with the bed clothes all strapped on, and behind them some shelves for our clothes. He told us to fix things up and then to come on deck, for we would be getting under way in a few minutes.
We hustled and then went up on the bridge where we found Mr. Atkins talking to a young man who was introduced to us as Mr. Topper. He looked as if he was about twenty-six or seven, and was so long and thin and sad looking we didn’t know what to make of him. He hardly said a word, but just sat on the leather cushion looking off at the water and wiggling his fingers.
The crew, Mr. Topper said, was Naboth and the engineer, whose name was Tom, and the cook, whose name was Rameses III.
“Rameses III?” says I. “Is he a king or something?”
“He’s a king of a cook. No, that’s his name. Rameses Third. Comes from Cape Cod some place. Always fighting with Naboth,” said Mr. Browning.
Pretty soon the crew cast off the mooring, and we were on our way. Mr. Browning was at the wheel, and we started out of the harbor for Long Island Sound. It was a lovely day, and the water was as smooth as glass. Lots of small boats were all around us, and everybody seemed happy except Mr. Topper, and he was about the gloomiest looking man I ever saw.
Just as we came out of the harbor we saw a black yacht, almost as big as we were. It was going along slow, and I saw somebody on deck watching us through glasses. Mr. Topper sat up and made a face and says, “What boat’s that?”
“Never saw her before,” says Mr. Browning. “Why?”
“I don’t like her looks,” says Mr. Topper. “There’s something about that boat that goes against my grain.”
“Nonsense. Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody knows anything about what we’re up to.”
“You can’t tell. If that boat follows us——”
I looked at Catty and Catty looked at me. That was funny kind of talk, and I wondered what we were getting into.
We turned up the sound, and, sure enough, the black yacht circled and turned and came right along in our wake, about half a mile behind us. Topper pointed. “There,” says he, “what did I tell you?”