Replies had, indeed, come in from the police at Pensacola, Fairhope, Bayou la Batre and Pascagoula, but nothing had been heard of any castaway coming ashore. Eva, however, was disappointed but not discouraged, and Lang wondered apprehensively what the final reaction would be when hope had to be given up.
He stayed with her for an hour in the second-floor sitting room, talking casually and cheerfully, and then left her. He would see her again in the morning, but for once he was impatient to leave her. He wanted to be alone, to think.
Eva evidently had no comprehension of the case. Her whole mind was fixed on her drowned father; everything else was excluded. She would delay, let the moment slip. And Morrison’s find was not a thing to trifle with.
Magnificent plans had risen in the back of his mind even while he talked to her. He might buy off Carroll himself. He would have no scruple in utilizing a portion of Eva’s twelve thousand dollars thus for her own good. He might even gamble a part of his own slender capital on it. Once in possession of the guiding charts he would go south himself, hire a schooner, find the treasure, return and hand it over to Eva—quarts of emeralds as large as potatoes. What he would get out of it himself did not trouble him.
It was boyish and impracticable. He laughed at himself, though still fascinated by the idea. At any rate he felt that Carroll must be dealt with at once, and he went to the St. Andrew Hotel on his way home, but the young adventurer was out.
He found him next morning, at a late breakfast in the hotel dining room. Carroll greeted him with his never-failing smoothness, did not seem surprised, and offered coffee, which Lang declined.
“I’ve come to have an understanding with you, as you said.”
“Good. Well?” said Carroll, alert.
“I’ve talked to Miss Morrison. She’ll give you five hundred dollars for her father’s papers and photos.”
“Nothing doing!” Carroll returned.