Rosalind, whose eyes were keen, deciphered two words that were written in a bold hand on one side of the sheet. Her pulse quickened, but that was the only manifestation of the excitement which the paper produced in her.
After a moment of talk on the wharf, the two men embarked, thanked Mr. Witherbee, and went on their way.
"That's a funny go," said her host, turning to her.
Rosalind raised her eyebrows in polite curiosity.
"American customs agents," explained Mr. Witherbee. "Looking for diamond-smugglers. It seems there's been a good deal of it going on. Last night somebody left an anonymous letter in their boat. That's what brought them down here."
"Here?"
"They didn't show me the whole thing, but it contained some sort of a hint about Mr. Morton."
"Mr. Morton?"
"Uh-huh! Ridiculous, of course; I told them so. I think I satisfied 'em on that score. They said, of course, they were compelled to look up every possible clue.
"They didn't think of accusing Morton of anything. Just wanted to know something about him; that was all. I introduced him. They didn't seem to take much stock in whatever the letter said."