The heavy insurance on the fifty-year-old May was about to run out, and it was almost a certainty that Burns would not recommend its renewal except at a vastly increased premium.
As a matter of fact, on a hurried trip that Code had taken, he had picked up Burns himself at St. John’s, the inspector coming for the purpose of examining 90 the schooner while under sail in a fairly heavy seaway.
All the island knew this, and all the island knew that Code was the only one to return alive. The inference was not hard to deduce, especially as the gale encountered had been one such as the May had lived out a dozen times.
Had not all these things been enough to fire the impulsive, passionate Burns with a sullen hatred, the next events would have been. For Code received his insurance without a dispute and, not long afterward, while in Boston for the purpose, had picked up the almost new Charming Lass from a Gloucester skipper who had run into debt.
Code now saw to what Nat’s uncontrolled brooding had brought him, and he realized that the battle would be one of wits.
He got up to go on deck. He had only turned to the companionway when the great voice of Pete Ellinwood rumbled down to him.
“Come on deck, skipper, an’ look over this schooner astern of us. There’s somethin’ queer about her. I don’t like her actions.”
Code took the steps at a jump, and a moment later stood beside Ellinwood. The Lass was snoring along under full sail.
The stranger, which at eight o’clock had been five 91 miles astern, was now, at noon, less than a mile away.
Code instinctively shot a quick glance at the compass. The schooner was running dead east.