"I am speaking in a purely suggestive sense," Locke answered, his voice hardening a little. "There is no letter for you that I know of. I am suggesting a plausible explanation which you can make to Miss Marlin—and Miss Wickes—for leaving this place at once."
Captain Francis Newcombe stiffened, but his voice still retained its drawl.
"I am tempted to believe that insanity is infectious," he said; "either that, or perhaps my own intelligence is sadly astray this morning. I have neither the desire nor the intention to leave here, and especially at a time such as this when I might possibly be of even a little assistance to those who have been so hospitable to me, and so I do not require any excuse, however plausible or ingenious, for going away."
Locke's eyes rested appraisingly for a long moment on the other's cool, composed, suave face. Well, was it any cooler, any more self-possessed than his own? What of passion that was boiling within did not show on the surface!
"Nevertheless," he said steadily, "that is the excuse you will give. One of the motor boats is going over to the mainland in a little while, and you are going on her. I have already had your baggage—and Runnells'—put on board."
"You—what?" The red was suddenly in Captain Francis Newcombe's face. He took a quick step forward, his hands clenched. "My baggage sent out of the house—by your orders!" he said hoarsely. "You've gone a bit too far now, my man, and you'll explain yourself—and explain yourself damned quick! Out with it! What's the meaning of this?"
Locke had not moved. His eyes had not left the other's face. There was something strangely tempting about that face; it induced an almost uncontrollable impulse to mark it, to batter it, to wreck it with a rain of blows that would not cease until physical exhaustion intervened and one could strike no more. And yet his hands hung idly at his sides.
"Yes"—Locke's voice was not raised—"I will tell you the meaning of it. You are going for two reasons. The first is because you are morally responsible for Mr. Marlin's death; and the second is because you are—what you are—and as such, from the moment you say good-bye to her here, you are going out of Polly's life forever."
Captain Francis Newcombe came still a step nearer.
Locke's eyes had not left the other's face. He read a cold, ugly glitter in the gaze that held on his; he saw the curious whitening of the other's lips—and a knotted fist suddenly drawn back to strike. And with a lightning movement Locke caught the other's wrist and flung the blow aside.