"Since you are in Mr. Johnstone's confidence, you may remain. He won't mind my saying that, so far as strictly nautical matters go, he's well qualified to deal with them, but there are touches about what he told me that seem to show he has had your help. Now you must exactly follow these directions—"
He told them how they could learn his movements and send him word.
"That is all," he concluded. "If you think the weather permits it, I'll be glad to keep you on board over night."
Andrew opened the door, and the bitter draught that swept in lifted the chart on the table and swirled about the room. They heard the surf beat upon a rocky beach and the wind scream in the shrouds.
"No, thanks," he said. "It's not a night to leave the boat."
Rankine went out with them and gave an order. Half-seen men ran aft and dropped into the dark from the vessel's rail, and presently the gig lay tossing abreast of the gangway. Whitney looked at the warm, well-lighted deckhouse with regret, and then, buttoning his oilskins, followed Andrew down into the boat.
CHAPTER XIX
A WARNING
Staffer and Williamson sat in the library at Appleyard. It was getting late, and the rest of the household were in bed. Williamson had gone to his room with the others, but afterward had crept down again quietly. He had arrived that evening, but had found it difficult to get any private conversation with his host without making his wish to do so rather marked; for he imagined that Miss Woodhouse was watching him; and Whitney was constantly about. Now, however, he had said all he thought needful, and he wondered why Staffer did not let him go.
The library was spacious and was lighted only by a shaded lamp on a table near them. The polished floor gleamed like ice in the illuminated circle, but everything outside this was dim, and Staffer's face was in the shadow. The fire in the big hearth had sunk, and a pale-blue flame that gave no light played about the embers of the hardwood logs. The room was very quiet and getting cold.