Wilkins withdrew his eyes from the dancing water and fixed them on the girl. For a moment he looked her in the face; then he deliberately winked.
Miss Lee struck at him. “Don’t get fresh,” she ordered severely. “I don’t allow gentlemen to wink at me except over a cold bottle. Speak out and quit making signs.”
Wilkins chuckled. “Say! You’re all to the good,” he remarked. “I’m ready if you are.”
“Ready for what?”
“To foreclose on that there promissory note of yourn—that one about the gold. I’m ready to start for New York if you are. Fact is, I’m off to-night!”
“To-night!”
“Sure thing! It’s me for the broad Atlantic by the light of the moon this very night. Say, don’t you want to shake this gang and come along?”
The girl paled slightly. “Tell me what you mean right away,” she ordered crisply.
Wilkins pointed over the water. “You see that right-hand boat pronouncin’ around yonder?” he questioned. “Well, near’s my specification goes, the Orkney lies just about under her. Unless they’re too terrible promiscuous, they’ll find her mighty soon, and then there’ll be goings on worse’n a locoed bronco.”
“How do you know?” The girl was leaning over him, every muscle tense with excitement. “How do you know where the Orkney is, and why will there be trouble when it is found?” she demanded.