“I’m the captain— I sent for the police.”
The thin one nodded. “I’m Risdon,” he said. “I work in plain clothes, out of Poughkeepsie. What’s wrong?”
He had a rasping voice, and he spoke like a businessman of major importance. Latham said:
“Eric Vennell, the owner of this yacht, has disappeared.”
Risdon made a sniffling noise. “What of that?” he snapped.
Latham said: “It was just after the finish of the race, and the storm had just broken. We searched the yacht thoroughly. He isn’t aboard.”
Risdon looked at me. “You one of the guests?” he asked.
I nodded. Latham said, with a touch of grimness in his voice:
“From what I can find out— Mr. Connors was the last person to see Mr. Vennell.”
I didn’t like the captain’s tone. He suddenly assumed importance to me. After all, he was Vennell’s
