DRIVEN by twin propellers, the Sea Spume raced westward, bearing happy souls released from the suspense of the past month. Caruth had found a wife; Professor Shishkin, a daughter; Marie, a father and a husband; and freed from the long strain of service to the cause, she had learned for the first time how heavy the burden had been.
With them were Bristow and Olga. The reporter’s assignment to the Russian capital was nearly up, and as it was madness for Olga to remain longer in the same city with Baron Demidroff and the pretended Princess Napraxine, he had decided to sail with Caruth.
They were all going back to America, to the western world, and they were all happy at the thought. They would find complications awaiting them, they knew. Olga, reported by the papers to have been identified as the Princess Napraxine and to have married Demidroff, must keep away from her old home and her old friends. Shishkin, though he had gained one daughter without losing the other, must pass as childless in the evening of his life. Caruth would have to satisfy the curious as to his somewhat remarkable performances in Russia and Russian waters. And he would have to raise that million dollars.
One and all they had agreed to shield Florence, both for her sake and for theirs. To betray her was to risk drawing down upon themselves nihilist vengeance for the failure of the expedition—a failure that would assuredly be charged to her substitution for Olga. Besides, in that critical moment at the Embassy they had all tacitly agreed to keep silence in regard to her identity.
None of them were quite certain as to the part she had played, as to whether she had been a traitor, a double traitor, or only a spy. Anyhow, as Caruth put it: “All’s well that ends well. I’m not heaving any stones. I’m living in a tolerable imitation of a glass house myself.”
So, bearing happy souls, the yacht sped westward into the night.
Running before the wind, the sloop bearing the Wilkins brothers and their golden plunder fled eastward. Until the sun set, it had beat to the west, toward the far-off land of promise, but as soon as darkness hid it from sight of the land, it had turned toward St. Petersburg, and for half a dozen hours had churned heavily onward.
Heavily laden, deep in the water, requiring constant bailing even in that smooth, sheltered sea, it made slow progress. Pursuers such as must be questing the gulf for it would surely find it as soon as day dawned. Let the rising sun once gleam on its sails and the game would be lost.
To Bill Wilkins, seated at the tiller, managing the boat with a consummate skill whose constant exercise alone kept it afloat, the game seemed lost long before the dawn. In vain through the night he had strained his eyes for the signal lights by which the steamer Haakon was to signify her presence and readiness to ship the gold. Either she had passed unseen or her captain’s heart had failed him. In any case dependence was no longer to be placed on her.