But at the moment my education was in its initial stages, and turning with a shrug from three scowling faces, I led my friendly bluecoat a little aside.
“I’ve no more time to-night to spend thief-catching, Officer,” I told him. I had just recalled my dinner, now utterly ruined, and Dunny, probably at this instant cracking walnuts as fiercely as if each one were the kaiser’s head. “But I’m an amateur in these affairs, and you are a master. Before I go, as man to man, what the dickens do you make of this?”
Flattered, he looked profound.
“I’m thinking, sorr,” he gave judgment, “ye had the rights of it. Seein’ as how th’ thafe is German, ye’ll not set eyes on him more—for divil a wan here but’s of that counthry, and they stick together something fierce!”
“Well,” I admitted, “our thoughts run parallel. Here is something to drink confusion to them all. And, O’Reilly, I am glad I’m going to sail to-morrow. I’d rather live on a sea full of submarines than in this hotel, wouldn’t you?”
Touching his forehead, he assented, and wished me good-night and a good journey; part of his hope went unfulfilled, by the way. That ocean voyage of mine was to take rank, in part at least, as a first-class nightmare. The Central powers could scarcely have improved on it by torpedoing us in mid-ocean or by speeding us upon our trip with a cargo of clock-work bombs.
CHAPTER III
ON THE RE D’ITALIA
The sailing of the Re d’Italia was scheduled for 3 P.M. promptly, but being well acquainted with the ways of steamers at most times, above all in these piping times of war, it was not until an hour later than I left the St. Ives, where the manager, by the way, did not appear to bid me farewell.
The thermometer had been falling, and the day was crisp and snappy, with a light powdering of snow underfoot and a blue tang and sparkle in the air. Dunny accompanied me in the taxicab, but was less talkative than usual. Indeed, he spoke only two or three times between the hotel and the pier.
“I say, Dev,”
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