XXXIII
In the boathouse a young sailor was loading several huge trunks into a small launch.
"Closing up for the season?" asked Roger as casually as possible.
"I dunno what they're doing," grumbled the man. "Fine trick leaving one man to handle stuff like this."
Roger lent a hand. "What did they do, forget this when they left?" he asked.
"They did not!" grinned the sailor. "Mr. Garman didn't give them time to forget anything. He loaded 'em onto the Egret and shot 'em down the river without giving them time to forget anything."
"He must have been in a hurry to get away?"
Roger's words were calm, but the beat of his heart was shaking his ribs.
"Who? Mr. Garman? He didn't sail. Just Senator Fairclothe and Mrs. Livingstone. 'Get aboard,' he says, and they got. 'Get to hell out of here!' he says to the captain. 'Where to?' says the captain. 'Get!' says Mr. Garman. Talk about a temper! There was blue lightning and an eighty-mile wind round here till they'd sailed."
"Mr. Garman staying behind alone?"