"Yes." He nodded curtly. "The place will be shut for six months. If I've not returned by that time, if I've not struck some lucky vein, old Dribble can foreclose his mortgage and be blessed! Of course, I'm not gambling on striking it rich in a hurry; it's just a long chance that still remains. Well, now that's settled, let's get on about your friend Ericksen. You never heard of anyone by that name?"
"No. He may have known my father——"
"I'm coming to that. Ericksen had come from the Pacific Coast to find you—in person; mark that down as Point One, upper case! Why in person, when a letter or telegram would have fetched you? Point One—Query! I don't like that fellow's looks.
"Point Two: he tells a very fishy sort of tale—namely, that your father was not lost at sea at all, but was rescued——"
"What?" broke in the girl, leaning forward. Again Dennis nodded, imperturbable.
"Yes, if you care to believe it. I don't! He says that your father was taken into Unalaska by some natives who had found him on one of the Aleut islands—he was then down with something like what used to be called 'brain fever'. It left him quite paralysed. He was taken to Vancouver and is now in a sailors' home there. Being paralysed, barely able to keep alive, he has been unable to tell his name—mind you, this is all Boatswain Joe's narrative.
"Ericksen, or some of his friends, saw your father there and recognized him, and promptly took him in charge. Do you get that, Florence? They have him in a house in Vancouver now, taking care of him. Point Two! They are not philanthropists; why did they do this? Why did they not communicate with the authorities? Why do they send Boatswain Joe to get you?"
"To get—me?" The girl's brown eyes shone eagerly.
"Yes. Ericksen wants you to go and see your father, wants you to try to communicate with him. Why? I don't know. Probably your father knows something that Ericksen or his friends want to know. Well, I suppose you'd go quick enough, if you believed the story?"
"Go?" she flashed. "Of course! To-day—now!"