‘Very good of you

‘Very good of you,’ the lieutenant said. ‘Appreciate your attitude.’
‘Another glass of port, gentlemen?’
‘Don’t mind if I do. Nothing like this on shore you know. You, Scobie?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘I hope you won’t find it necessary to keep us here tonight, major?’
Scobie said, ‘I don’t think there’s any possibility of your get-ting away before midday tomorrow.’
‘Will do our best, of course,’ the lieutenant said
‘On my honour, gentlemen, my hand upon my heart, you will find no bad hats among my passengers. And the crew - I know them all.’
Druce said, ‘It’s a formality, captain, which we have to go through.’
‘Have a cigar,’ the captain said. ‘Throw away that cigar-ette. Here is a very special box.’
Druce lit the cigar, which began to spark and crackle. The captain giggled. ‘Only my joke, gentlemen. Quite harmless. I keep the box for my friends. The English have a wonderful sense of humour. I know you will not be angry. A German yes, an Englishman no. It is quite cricket, eh?’
‘Very funny,’ Druce said sourly, laying the cigar down on the ash-tray the captain held out to him. The ash-tray, pre-sumably set off by the captain’s finger, began to play a little tinkly tune. Druce jerked again: he was overdue for leave and his nerves were unsteady. The captain smiled and sweated. ‘Swiss,’ he said. ‘A wonderful people. Neutral too.’
One of the Field Security men came in and gave Druce a note. He passed it to Scobie to read. Steward, who is under notice of dismissal, says the captain has letters concealed in his bathroom.
Druce said, ‘I think I’d better go and make them hustle down below. Coming, Evans? Many thanks for the port, cap-tain.’
Scobie was left alone with the captain. This was the part of the job he always hated. These men were not criminals: they were merely breaking regulations enforced on the shipping companies by the navicert system. You never knew in a search what you would find. A man’s bedroom was his private life. Prying in drawers you came on humiliations; little petty vices were tucked out of sight like a soiled handkerchief. Under a pile of linen you might come on a grief he was trying to forget. Scobie said gently, ‘I’m afraid, captain, I’ll have to look around. You know it’s a formality.’
‘You must do your duty, major,’ the Portuguese said.
Scobie went quickly and neatly through the cabin: he never moved a thing without replacing it exactly: he was like a care-ful housewife. The captain stood with his back to Scobie look-ing out on to the bridge; it was as if he preferred not to em-barrass his guest in the odious task. Scobie came to an end, closing the box of French letters and putting them carefully back in the top drawer of the locker with the handkerchiefs, the gaudy ties and the little bundle of dirty handkerchiefs. ‘All finished?’ the captain asked politely, turning his head.
‘That door,’ Scobie said, ‘what would be through there?’
‘That is only the bathroom, the w.c.’
‘I think I’d better take a look.’