“It’s as black as pitch. I can’t see anything.”
The refrain rang out nearer.
“Wait! I saw something twinkle. There it is again. It’s his cigar. It’s coming this way—down the path.”
There was a long rattle of thunder through the stillness.
“It’s the storm!” Isabel whispered. “He’s coming to see about the launch.”
Wrayford dropped noiselessly from the bench and she caught him by the arm.
“Isn’t there time to get up the path and slip under the shrubbery?”
“No, he’s in the path now. He’ll be here in two minutes. He’ll find us.”
He felt her hand tighten on his arm.
“You must go in the skiff, then. It’s the only way.”