Five minutes later, in the privacy of their own cabin, Florence faced Tom Dennis, her hands on his shoulders.
"Dear, I had hard work to make father consent," she said quietly. "But he yielded to my love and utter confidence in you. Now tell me—why did you do it? Do you really mean to go alone with these men, on this ship?"
Dennis filled his pipe, stooped to kiss her lips, then struck a match.
"I most certainly do, my dear. The chances are a thousand to one that the revenue cutter will not be in Unalaska Bay. In that event, you and your father will go ashore, while I shall sail with the Pelican. You'll take my big grip ashore, containing that phonograph and records. By this means your father can tell his entire story to the proper authorities. That will take time, of course, and it will take time to summon the revenue cutter, even by wireless.
"I believe that under the circumstances, I an oath can be administered to your father in a perfectly legal manner. You know the position of the wreck. With your father's story as a basis for action you can go to work in a proper manner with the authorities; whatever charges your father lays against Pontifex can be sworn to; your own signature to the agreement with Pontifex was obtained by fraud and deceit.
"You understand? Do nothing in a hurry. Give us a clear two weeks in which to get this ship loaded with the salvaged stuff. Then get sharp quick action, file a libel, or whatever the term is to denote an attachment of the ship. Sue Pontifex heavily in both your father's name and in ours, and claim whatever he has salvaged in your own name. We'll grab his ship and his salvaged stuff at one swoop, see? While that's going through the courts, we will gut the John Simpson of all that's left in her. There's a newspaper man in Vancouver named Margate; I'll give you cables to send off to him. He'll doubtless be able to get backing and to charter some kind of an old tub—and while Pontifex is in the courts with us, Margate will be looting the Simpson, before the general public gets wise to where the John Simpson is lying. See?"
The eyes of the girl were large with wonder-admiration, and delight. Then fear struck into their depths.
"The plan is wonderful, Tom! But you—in the meantime?"
Dennis grinned. "Me? I'll be jollying old Pontifex along; never fear!"