“Herr Dollmann is away still, I think,” said von Brüning. (So Davies had been right at Brunsbüttel.) “Were you thinking of looking him up again?” he added.
“Well, I’m sure he’s away. But his yacht is back, I believe—and Fräulein Dollmann, I suppose.”
“H’m!” said Davies; “she’s a very fine boat that.”
Our host smiled, gazing thoughtfully at Davies, who was miserable. I saw a chance, and took it mercilessly.
“We can call on Fräulein Dollmann, at least, Davies,” I said, with a meaning smile at von Brüning.
“H’m!” said Davies; “will he be back soon, do you think?”
The Commander had begun to light a cigar, and took his time in answering. “Probably,” he said, after some puffing, “he’s never away very long. But you’ve seen them later than I have. Didn’t you sail to the Elbe together the day after I saw you last?”
“Oh, part of the way,” said Davies, with great negligence. “I haven’t seen him since. He got there first; outsailed me.”
“Of course he beat me; I was close-reefed. Besides——”
“Oh, I remember; there was a heavy blow—a devil of a heavy blow. I thought of you that day. How did you manage?”
“Oh, it was a fair wind; it wasn’t far, you see.”
“Grosse Gott! In _that_.” He nodded towards the window whence the _Dulcibella_’s taper mast could be seen pointing demurely heavenwards.
“She’s a splendid sea-boat,” said Davies, indignantly.
“A thousand pardons!” said von Brüning, laughing.
“Don’t shake my faith in her,” I put in. “I’ve got to get to England in her.”
“Heaven forbid; I was only thinking that there must have been some sea round the Scharhorn that day; a tame affair, no doubt, Herr Davies?”
“Scharhorn?” said Davies, who did not catch the idiom in the latter sentence. “Oh, we didn’t go that way. We cut through the sands—by the Telte.”
“The Telte! In a north-west gale!” The Commander started, ceased to smile, and only stared. (It was genuine surprise; I could swear it. He had heard nothing of this before.)
“Herr Dollmann knew the way,” said Davies, doggedly. “He kindly offered to pilot me through, and I wouldn’t have gone otherwise.” There was an awkward little pause.
“He led you well, it seems?” said von Brüning.
“Yes; there’s a nasty surf there, though, isn’t there? But it saves six miles—and the Scharhorn. Not that I saved distance. I was fool enough to run aground.”