Pierre seemed to be talking in order to gain time to puzzle out the affair. Hesitation of any kind was foreign to his nature, but in this case he was forced to vacillate. He was completely at a loss as to how to deal with his unwanted guests. To land them on the coast in the vicinity of the Mary Lee's impending operations would be the height of folly. To turn them adrift in the boat would be far from wise. The best plan of all was to take them back to St. Pierre, but that would mean their presence on board during the landing of his illicit cargo. He did not care to decide on either course, yet could not see another way out of his difficulty.
In the end action was forced upon him. There came the subdued sound of voices on deck, the soft patter of feet overhead; then a face was thrust down the companion-way of the cabin. It was that of the mate.
"We've just picked up the shore signal, cap'n," he warned.
Pierre jumped to his feet.
"Lower the spars," he ordered. "I'll be on deck in a minute."
He turned to Ben and Dare.
"This way," he said, and led them to his own private stateroom; a box of a place with a bed, a desk, a few charts, a chair, a dory compass, and other small articles.
Dare and Ben entered the room, wondering what Pierre's intentions were. They soon found out. When they were fairly inside, Pierre slipped behind them and before they could make a move had darted out of the room and shut the door. The key turned in the lock and they were left virtually prisoners.