An hour later, with the afternoon half gone, Florence and Captain Hathaway were snugly ensconced as paying guests in a cottage not far behind the ancient Greek church. Captain Pontifex had departed on his own business.
"Dear, are you sure?" In the security of her hired room, with the immobile Miles Hathaway watching them from his chair, Florence sought the gaze of Tom Dennis. To him it seemed that her eye held a glowing probe of fire, searching his very soul.
"Remember, Tom dear, that I mustn't lose you. You're my one sure strong anchor in the world; your love and you are necessary to me," she said steadily. "So are you sure? Are you sure that the best plan would not be to stop here ashore and have Pontifex placed under restraint—here and now?
"Are you sure that we had not best let the thought of money and salvage go for the present, placing our own lives and safety first of all? Are you sure you can come back to me, my dear?"
Despite the brave soul of her, at those last words her voice faltered.
"Dear wife, I am sure," said Dennis simply. "I shall play the game safely, letting them suspect nothing of what I know, and before any crisis occurs you will have acted. Two weeks—remember!"
"And you think Pontifex will suspect nothing if Jerry disappears to-night?"
"He would not consent to leave you and your father here together, knowing that you can communicate, if he suspected anything. He will think that Jerry has run away, and will doubtless figure on picking up the boy when he returns—he'll be too anxious to reach the John Simpson to bother about suspicions. It has not occurred to him that you would ask your father any questions out of the ordinary, and certainly your father cannot tell anything of what has happened unless asked. You have the phonograph and records in that valise, so go ahead and don't worry about me, dear. I'll play my part."
"Agreed, dear." She leaned forward and held up her face to his. "Then let's leave father here, and go out to see the town; we'll spend our last hours together, before you go, and you can arrange about poor little Jerry."
An hour afterward, a grizzled old fisherman was listening to Tom Dennis and shaking his head in stubborn negation.