"I take it you chaps believe me to be an impostor, just as Allan does. Well, I'm not. And I'm going to give you my little talk on the old days at Rakedale Hall. When I've finished—"
"No, you're not," said Minot. "I've heard all that once."
"And you weren't convinced? Why, everybody in San Marco is convinced. The mayor, the chief of police, the—"
"My dear George," said Minot with feeling. "It doesn't make the slightest difference who you are. You and Trimmer stay separated until after next Tuesday."
"Yes. And rank injustice it is, too. We'll have the law on you for this. We'll send you all to prison."
"Pleasant thought," commented Paddock. "Mrs. Bruce would have to develop lockjaw at the height of the social season. Oh, the devil—I'd better be thinking about that luncheon."
All thought. All sat there silent. The black waters became a little rougher. On their surface small flecks of white began to appear. Minot looked up at the dark sky.
"Twenty-two after," said Paddock finally, and turned toward the engine. "Heaven grant that red light is on view. This is getting on my nerves."
Slyly the little launch poked its nose around the corner of the island and peeped at the majestic Lileth. Paddock snorted.
"Not a trace of it."