“Excuse me,” said Nat, who had not sat down and shifted from one foot to the other, “but Schofield sent for me, an’ I would like to find out what he wants. I’ve got to go along.”
“Schofield didn’t send for you––I sent for you. There are several things about this imprisonment of Code that don’t look right to me, and we may as well settle the whole business once and for all while we are here together. Now, Mr. Durkee,” she said, turning to the detective, “would you mind telling me what the charge is against Captain Schofield?”
“To tell you the truth, ma’am,” said he respectfully, “there are two charges out against him. One, by the insurance company, sues for recovery of money paid on the schooner May Schofield, and charges that the said schooner was sunk intentionally, first because Schofield wanted a newer boat, and second because the policy of the May was to expire 284 in a few days and could not have been renewed except at a much advanced rate.”
“And the other charge?”
“Is for murder in the first degree, growing out of the intentional sinking of the schooner. Captain Burns is the complainant.”
“Thank you.” She flashed one of her radiant smiles at him and made him a friend for life.
“That was a great race to-day,” she remarked irrelevantly, but with enthusiasm. “How much did you beat the Nettie B., Code?”
“A half an hour,” he replied, mystified at the turn of the conversation.
“Well, that is a coincidence.” She looked from one to the other. “It’s exactly the same amount of time he beat you seven months ago when he raced the old May against the M. C. Burns, isn’t it?” Her glance shot to Nat.
“Why, I believe it is, Mrs. Mallaby,” he stammered. The quick transition to that painful and dangerous period had caught him off his guard.