"Real United States!" he said. "I suppose an English boat doesn't know enough to whistle—"
Roger stopped with his mouth open. From the Alouette came two distinct blasts of the steam siren.
"Oh, that's Mr. Max," burst out Win in delight. "He's been in America and understands the etiquette of red fire. And you remember he said he knew personally all the captains on the Channel boats. Probably he went up to the bridge and got somebody to acknowledge our salute! Isn't that simply corking of him?"
"That was surely meant for us," agreed the pleased Frances. "Oh, how long shall we have to wait before we see them?"
That very evening Pierre brought a note from Constance, expressing appreciative thanks for their fiery welcome, the source of which Max had guessed and which he had easily induced Captain Lefevre to acknowledge. The note ended with an invitation to tea on Monday and promised a solution of some kind to Win's theories concerning the Spanish chest.
"How nice of Miss Connie to set the very first possible day," said
Frances. "I suppose we shall not see them before then."
"Not unless we go to the little old church tomorrow," replied her brother. "If you want to, and it's a still day, we might get up there."
But the travelers had returned on an evening of clouds and threatening winds. Easter Sunday dawned with Jersey in the grip of a terrific southeast storm. All day the rain beat on the panes of Rose Villa, all day the wind howled and snatched at the shutters, the house at times fairly quivering with its force. As dusk came, the gale increased to the proportions of a hurricane. Roger, going out to the pillar post-box, came struggling back with difficulty.
"I met one of the Noirmont fishermen," he reported. "He said it is the worst gale in thirty years and when the weather clears the surf will be worth seeing."
"Fisher told me that a southeast storm kicked up a fine sea," replied
Win. "I only hope it won't stop our going to the Manor to-morrow."