George naturally had been listening, and Nasmyth saw his subdued grin, but he saw also Mrs. Acton’s quick glance at Miss Hamilton, which seemed to suggest that she surmised the girl could explain why Martial had departed so unceremoniously. There was, however, only astonishment, and, Nasmyth fancied, a trace of relief in Violet Hamilton’s face. Mrs. Acton turned to her husband with a flush of resentment in her eyes.
“I should scarcely have believed Mr. Martial would ever write such a note,” she said. “What does he mean when he says that he does not appreciate being left to sleep in the woods all night?”
“That,” answered Acton, “is what I don’t quite understand. If he’d hailed anchor watch loud enough, George would have gone off for him. Still, we’re lying quite a way out from the beach.”
Then he remembered the man from the schooner, who still gripped the rail.
“How did you come to get this note?” he asked.
“The man who came off last night gave it to the skipper,” said the schooner’s deck-hand with a very suggestive grin.
“How’d he come off?” Acton asked. “Did you go ashore for him?”
“We didn’t!” said the man. “He must have swum off and crawled up the cable. Any way, when he struck the skipper he hadn’t any clothes on him.”
There was a little murmur of astonishment, and Mrs. Acton straightened herself suddenly, while Nasmyth saw a gleam of amusement creep into Acton’s eyes. The schooner man evidently felt that he had an interested audience, for he leaned upon the rail as he began to tell all he knew about the incident.