Job's face paled a little.
"Easy enough," he muttered; "but is there any occasion for such out and out work as that, cap'n? Look 'ee here," and, drawing the captain closer, he whispered something in his ear.
Captain Howard Murpoint nodded.
"I see," he said, musingly, his eyes fixed upon the figure of Leicester, which had dropped down upon the hot grass, with his face turned seaward. "I see. It is a good idea, and easily carried out."
"Well, let it go at that, cap'n," said Job, as if he had been striking a bargain. "Let it go at that. We meet here to-night, say at twelve. You'll work that part of the game, and leave the rest to me."
"Agreed," assented the captain, consulting his watch. And, after a few more words, the conspirators parted—Job stealing away down toward the beach, the captain carelessly passing through the wilderness of the ruined chapel to the trim kept lawns of the Park.
As he entered the hall, the servant brought him a note.
It was from the solicitor, Mr. Thaxton, and indicated that the writer would be at the Park on the morrow.
"To-morrow," he muttered; "there is no time to lose."
With an air of careless serenity, he entered the drawing-room, with the open letter in his hand.