"Let's be done with nonsense, Dr. Woolf," he growled. "Look at that," holding his hand before Crabb's eyes. "If I'm Otto Fehrenbach how is it that the letters C. G. are marked in my hand?"
Crabb, his arms akimbo, stood looking him steadily in the eyes.
"So," he said calmly, "you're awake at last!"
He looked at Crabb and the Captain with eyes which saw not. What he had thought of saying and doing remained unsaid and undone. With no other word he lurched heavily forward and down the companion.
"There'll be a hurricane in that quarter, Jepson, or I'm not weather wise," laughed Crabb. "We'd better run in now. There isn't much sea and the wind is offshore. We'll land him at Quogue or Westhampton. In the meanwhile, keep the tarpaulin over the for'ard boat so that he can't see the name on her. We'll use the gig. If he tries to peep over the stern we'll clap him in the stateroom. It will mean five years at least for me if he learns the name of the _Blue Wing_. So look sharp, Jepson, and keep an eye on him."
"Never fear," said the Captain with a grin, and walked forward.
Crabb walked the deck in high jubilation. He looked at his watch. Three o'clock! If McFee had followed his instructions Dicky Bowles and Juliet Hazard were man and wife. He had nicely figured his chances. To Geltman he was Dr. Woolf. To his crew he was Mr. Crabb taking an unfortunate relative for an airing; to Dicky Bowles he was the rescuer of forlorn damsels and the trump of good fellows.
Crabb was fully prepared to carry the villainy through to the end. Of one thing he was certain, the sooner his guest was off the _Blue Wing_ and safely landed the better.
And so, when at last Geltman came on deck with the watchful Weckerly at his heels, Crabb noted the chastened expression upon the brewer's face with singular satisfaction.
"I'll go ashore, if you please," he said, quietly.
"Here? Now?" he said. "We're pretty far down the coast. That's Quogue in there. I can't very well run back to New York, but----"
"Put me ashore, sir," said Geltman sulkily.
When the gig was lowered, Crabb bowed the brewer over the side, his evening clothes tied in a paper package.
"Good-by," said Crabb. "When you're done with the flannels, Mr. Geltman, send 'em to Fehrenbach."