“Nothing of the sort. It’s safer to-night than it would be almost any other time. Because—can’t you see?—some one has evidently been here all the afternoon, when the coast was entirely clear, and no doubt they’ve done all they wish to do there for this day, anyhow! There couldn’t be a better time than this very night, for there’s not one chance in a hundred that they’ll be back again.”
“But just suppose the hundredth chance did happen, what would you do?” argued Leslie in despair.
“Do?—I’d shout like everything to you to turn Rags loose and call up the village constable and Father. Or better yet, I’d blow this police whistle which Father always insists on my carrying so that I can call them in to meals when they’re down on the beach. If you hear that—just start things going. That’s why I’m leaving you and Rags here on guard.”
“Oh, I don’t like it—I don’t like it at all!” moaned Leslie. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you only met Eileen there—but you can’t tell whom you might encounter. I believe there’s something more dangerous and desperate about this affair than either of us have guessed. I don’t know why I think so—it’s just come to me lately. It’s a sort of—presentiment I can’t seem to shake off!”
“Nonsense!” declared Phyllis, not to be balked. “If I met any one there, it could only be Eileen, and she’s the one I’m crazy to encounter. After the way she has treated us, I’d have a few things to say to that young person for trespassing on Mrs. Danforth’s property. Mrs. Danforth has always asked that we keep an eye on these cottages of hers while we’re here,—it’s an understood thing between us—so I’d be entirely within my rights in going in there to look the place over, especially if I suspected anything queer, and the other person would be quite in the wrong. Don’t you see?”
“Oh, yes, I see that, but it doesn’t lessen the fact that it may be dangerous!” sighed Leslie, wearily.
Phyllis ignored this. “If the hundredth chance should happen and I encounter Eileen, or if I come across anything very unusual and think you ought to see it, I’ll let you know. Only in case of the hundred and first chance of real danger will I blow this whistle. Hold on tight to Rags and don’t let him try to follow me. By-by! See you later!” And before Leslie could expostulate further, she had slipped out of the window, her electric torch in her hand, and was out of sight around the corner of the neighboring cottage.
Leslie remained half hanging out of the window, in an agony of suspense. The night was moonless and very dark. Added to that, a heavy sea-mist hung over everything like a blanket, and, out of the gloom, the steady pounding of the surf came to her with ominous insistence. The chill of the foggy air was penetrating, and she wrapped a sweater about her almost without realizing that she had done so. Rags was on the seat beside her, ears alertly cocked.
There was not a sound from the next house, nor could she even see a single gleam of light from the chinks in the shutters. Where could Phyllis be? Surely there had been time enough for her to have entered the place, looked about, and come out again. What could she be doing?
Then her brain began to be filled with horrible pictures of all the possible and impossible things that might have happened. So beyond all bearing did this feature become at length that she came to the sudden conclusion she would endure it no longer. She would get out of the window, herself, and go in search of her friend. If the worst came to worst, Rags could do some one a pretty bit of damage!