Swiftly Florence opened the book that lay in her lap and ripped out the flyleaf with its princely inscription. Swiftly she tore it into tiny fragments and tossed it to the breeze that sang through the rigging. “There!” she cried, as the bits besprinkled the water. “That’s the end of the Princess Yves Napraxine. It’s a go.”
“The Princess which?”
“Somebody you never heard of. A bird in the bush. A dream of the impossible. A romance from the Chambermaid’s Own. Let her go. I’ll be ready when you are.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THAT night the wreck was found. Seated in the cabin, close beside the telephone that led over the side down to the divers toiling beneath the darkening water, Caruth received the thrilling news.
Instantly hoarse orders rang through the ship, and the crew sprang to their stations. The furnace doors were flung open and brawny stokers hurled coal upon the banked fires until the hiss of steam told that the Sea Spume was ready to race for the open sea the moment the gold was on board.
Below, the divers were picking their way over the sunken hull, seeking the storage place of the treasure.
Above, at the telephones, stood Caruth and Marie Fitzhugh, cheeks flushed and eyes a-sparkle.
“At last! At last!” breathed the girl; and “At last! At last!” echoed Caruth.
His tones penetrated to the girl’s consciousness, and she blushed brightly. In the triumph of her cause, she had forgotten that Caruth’s object and hers were not the same.