Sarita, not quite herself yet, sat down on the rocks at hand, but Leslie stood with deepest interest, watching the moving light. “Now they are there,” she whispered to Sarita; “Come on, child, I’m going to see you to bed and then come back with my flashlight to see where that motorboat comes back to,—don’t you admire my English?”
“I’ll wait with you, Leslie.”
“No, not after the day you have had. I ought to have been more thoughtful. Come on, honey-child, if only to save me from Beth’s reproofs.”
Leslie never knew how wise a move she had made, for when she and Sarita had been in the tent for a little while, moving carefully, with only an occasional flash of the flashlight, in order not to disturb Beth, a watcher among the rocks moved slowly away toward the village. Their fire on the rocks had been noted.
It was just as well, too, that Leslie waited for some little time after Sarita was in her cot before leaving the tent again. She knew that it would be some time, very likely, before the launch would return, especially if, as she thought, they were engaged in rum-running. In consequence, she, too, undressed, slipping on her warm bathrobe and her rubber-soled tennis shoes for her little venture. She grew sleepy as she sat for a little while on the edge of her cot, wrapped in a blanket. Then, when she found herself nodding, she roused with a start! Oh, she must have gone to sleep and it would be too late!
But she looked at her watch and found that only twenty minutes had passed since she and Sarita had come in.
It was a little spooky, Leslie thought, to go out to the rocks alone. She had half a notion to call Dalton, but when she tiptoed to his tent she heard his even breathing and had not the heart to waken him. Coming from the darkness of the tent, it did not seem so black under the starlight. She kept to the path and occasional flashes from her light showed her the ground before her. Their fire was out.
When she reached the spot where she and Sarita had stood, she was surprised to see the launch half way toward the bay. It had not taken them long to load, she thought. And a second surprise, though not so much of one, either, was to see the launch speeding in the direction of Steeple Rocks, not by way of the bay and the channel, but from the ocean, doubtless to the Ives’ bay.
Something, then, was to be taken from the ship to Mr. Ives. Perhaps it wasn’t liquor. Perhaps Mr. Ives was a jewel smuggler. Perhaps he wasn’t! Leslie laughed to herself at another idea. Mr. Ives was away. It might be that he himself was on board the vessel and was delivered here instead of being taken further down to the port. That was probably it. Still—