"I think you're rather hard on Owen, Harry," said Pauline. "Of course, we all know that pirates aren't nice persons—but nobody could foresee that the man was crazy."
"Well, perhaps. But don't talk, we have a mile and a half swim to shore."
They were spared that ordeal by the Silurian liner Caradoc. Arrayed in borrowed clothes they were notified of a second rescue and came out on deck in time to behold in the dusk of evening the "pirate." He was relating to an admiring throng how he had stuck by the burning ship till it exploded. He had actually been blown into the air and had fallen by good luck into the little boat.
"It's a lie," said Harry in the old man's cackling voice. The "pirate" heard the voice of the old man and saw the face and the blond hair of Harry.
It was too much for his evil and murderous mind to bear. With a shriek he hurled himself over the rail into the sea. The Caradoc stopped and searched, but no trace of the "pirate" could be found.
CHAPTER VIII
THE COURTELYOU RECEPTION
Two weeks later Pauline and Harry were sitting in the library. Through the half-closed blinds a soft breeze bore to them the fragrance of carnations and roses.
For the first few days after their return Pauline was so thankful they had not lost their lives that she was reconciled to not having found the treasure. But only for the first few days. She was already growing restless.
"You're wasting time, Harry," she said impatiently. "I'd rather face anything than be bored to death."