"It's another island," commented Miss Chalmers as she rested a second time, now not more than a hundred yards from the shore. "It's another burglar-hunt, too. Oh, dear! I suppose it means pajamas."
It did. Somebody struck a match to light a cigar, and the brief illumination revealed two men who were most palpably dressed for bed. She allowed the boat to drift quietly while she listened. The match burned out and the figures were hidden again, but she could hear their voices distinctly.
"The dogs aren't worth a hoot," growled one of the voices.
"Seems like they ain't quite as noticin' as they used to be, sir," admitted the other.
"I gave them the scent, right where we found the footprints in the flower-bed, but they didn't even seem excited."
"No, sir."
"Did you see him at all?"
"Not a sign, sir; nor heard him either."
"It's a deuce of a note," complained the first speaker. "I've got watch-dogs and servants and locks on my doors and windows, and yet I can't keep thieves out of my house."
"If only Mr. William was here, sir, we might—"