Part 32 (1/2)

”Exactly; I must decide.”

Rankine looked hard at him, knitting his brows.

”I cannot tell you what my orders are,” he said; ”but you put me in an awkward position. I may do wrong in not reporting our conversation.”

”Even if you did report it, I should stick to the line I've taken. If it led to my arrest, that would, of course, prevent my watching the coast--and I can do that as well as you.”

”Better; for you wouldn't be suspected. Well, as I see you must be indulged, I'll tell you how to find me when you have something more to say. You must be careful to follow my instructions.”

”Then write them down.”

”I think not; I'm rather straining my authority in giving them to you at all, and secrecy is important.”

Whitney got up.

”Perhaps I ought to remind you that I'm not a British subject,” he said.

Rankine smiled.

”Since you are in Mr. Johnstone's confidence, you may remain. He won't mind my saying that, so far as strictly nautical matters go, he's well qualified to deal with them, but there are touches about what he told me that seem to show he has had your help. Now you must exactly follow these directions--”

He told them how they could learn his movements and send him word.

”That is all,” he concluded. ”If you think the weather permits it, I'll be glad to keep you on board over night.”

Andrew opened the door, and the bitter draught that swept in lifted the chart on the table and swirled about the room. They heard the surf beat upon a rocky beach and the wind scream in the shrouds.

”No, thanks,” he said. ”It's not a night to leave the boat.”

Rankine went out with them and gave an order. Half-seen men ran aft and dropped into the dark from the vessel's rail, and presently the gig lay tossing abreast of the gangway. Whitney looked at the warm, well-lighted deckhouse with regret, and then, b.u.t.toning his oilskins, followed Andrew down into the boat.

CHAPTER XIX

A WARNING

Staffer and Williamson sat in the library at Appleyard. It was getting late, and the rest of the household were in bed. Williamson had gone to his room with the others, but afterward had crept down again quietly. He had arrived that evening, but had found it difficult to get any private conversation with his host without making his wish to do so rather marked; for he imagined that Miss Woodhouse was watching him; and Whitney was constantly about. Now, however, he had said all he thought needful, and he wondered why Staffer did not let him go.

The library was s.p.a.cious and was lighted only by a shaded lamp on a table near them. The polished floor gleamed like ice in the illuminated circle, but everything outside this was dim, and Staffer's face was in the shadow. The fire in the big hearth had sunk, and a pale-blue flame that gave no light played about the embers of the hardwood logs. The room was very quiet and getting cold.

”You'll be in town next week,” Staffer said. ”Can you find a good excuse for taking d.i.c.k? A boxing or billiard match, for example.”

”I don't know of anything of the kind.”

”Then you surprise me. You belong to one or two smart sporting clubs.”

”Sporting events are not popular just now.”

”There's always something going on; and if it's semi-private, so much the better. When one is as young as d.i.c.k, a little mystery is inciting, and it's flattering to feel oneself a privileged person.”

”No doubt. For all that, I haven't heard of any attractive fixture; and if I invented one that didn't come off, it would make the game obvious, even to d.i.c.k.”