She looked down upon the kneeling figure, a tempest of wrath upon her lips. The boatman was fussing aimlessly with a wrench.
Miss Chalmers fought for self-control. She had a passionate desire to slay, but she lacked a convenient means. Besides, she could not see that homicide would speed her way to Witherbee's Island. And even in her stormiest moments, Miss Chalmers never quite abandoned her grip on things as they were and problems that had to be met.
But she was bewildered, even alarmed. She did not fear the consequences, however unpleasant, of an all-night drift on the river. It was the boatman who furnished cause for dismay. She wondered if he was insane.
"I would like to know," she said, struggling to quiet her voice, "why you did that."
"Did what?"
"Sent that yacht away."
"Reasons," he responded briefly.
"Reasons! What reasons?"
His only answer was a shrug.
"I demand to be told why you sent those people away."