"Mr. Wall," said Minot pleasantly, "allow me to present Mr. George Harrowby, the owner of the boat on which we now stand."
"I beg our pardon," said Wall, without the quiver of an eyelash. "So careless of me. Don't stand, gentlemen. Have chairs—all of you."
And he stared George Harrowby calmly in the eye.
"You're flippant this morning," said the elder Harrowby. "We'll be glad to sit, thank you. And may I repeat what Mr. Minot has told you—I own this yacht."
"Indeed?" Mr. Wall's face beamed. "You bought it from Wilson, I presume."
"Just who is Wilson?"
"Why—he's the man I rented it from in New York."
"So that's your tale, is it?" Allan Harrowby put in.
"You wound me," protested Mr. Wall. "That is my tale, as you call it. I rented this boat in New York from a man named Albert Wilson. I have the lease to show you, also my receipt for one month's rent."
