"But his body—what of that?" asked Mrs. Corcoran, for Mrs. Nelson was unable to utter a word.
"His body must have been carried off by the current which sweeps around the island, especially during such a breeze as we had recently."
"It must be true," cried Mrs. Nelson, bursting into tears. "I found his fishing towel, and that was covered with blood. Oh, my poor Ralph!"
She went off into a fit of weeping, and in that state Squire Paget left her to the attention of Mrs. Corcoran. He had expected to go into the details of his search, but, evidently, they were not now needed.
"I guess my plan will work all right," he said to himself, as he walked home rapidly. "It's a pity I must hurry matters so, but unless I do that valuable piece of property may slip through my fingers."
Not for one moment did the squire's conscience trouble him for what he had done. He thought only of the end to be gained—of the money he intended to make.
Of course, he imagined that Ralph was really dead. He would have been furious had he known the real truth.
But an awakening was close at hand. It came on the following day, when the squire was at the post office.
He was standing in a corner looking over the various letters he had received when he heard Henry Bott, the clerk, address a few words to a laboring man who had come in to post a letter.
"Kind of mysterious about Ralph Nelson?" remarked the man, whose name was Fielder.