The girl descended to Phil's cabin to administer the first aid of caresses, the only nursing technique in which she had had any training, mentally cursing, the while, her idiocy (she called it "boneheadedness") in leaving her habitat (that she called "God's Country"). Why should she be chasing a "fool kid" who wanted to "shake her," when, as all the real world knew, millionaires should be decorating her with diamonds and "poils"—her with her face and figure!
On deck, MacAllister watched the dock, where the little launch lay moored, through his glass. Pete was evidently following his leader's instructions to the letter, for a half-hour later MacAllister saw him backing to the wharf, one hand seemingly twisted in the collar of a struggling figure, the other hand, probably armed with an eloquent automatic, levelled on a gesticulating crowd of natives.
He got away from the wharf in perfect order, and reached the yacht. Up the ladder under Pete's gentle persuasion, or rather above it, climbed a seedy sallow-faced individual with yellow slit-pupilled eyes that looked more dangerous than any instrument in his delapidated case.
"He's a nasty bird, Cap. Keep your lamps on him," warned Pete. "Those brown on shore are stirrin' up a hell uv a mess over the Frenchy. Better weigh anchor an' damn quick!"
MacAllister summoned the shanghaied sailor, the only member of the Aileen's original crew with them, ordered up steam, then turned to the snarling-eyed practitioner of medicine.
