Upon the shore, at the spot where the Cypriani's boat ordinarily landed, stood a tallish, stocky young man, looking at them cheerfully and swabbing his brow with a large blue handkerchief. Catching Varney's eye, he waved his hand with the handkerchief in it, and said, for the second time:
"Hello, aboard the Cypriani!"
Varney stepped to the rail, a faint smile on his lip. "Hello, there!
What can we do for you?"
"Hot as merry hell, isn't it?" said the young man pleasantly. "Send a boat over for me, will you? I'm Hammerton, of the Gazette and the New York Daily, and I want to come aboard for a little talk."
"Never in this world!" breathed Peter, sotto voce.
Varney smiled, grimly. "Sorry, Mr. Hammerton. You're just too late. We are starting away from Hunston this very minute."
The Cypriani shuddered like a live thing and slid slowly forward.
CHAPTER XI
WHICH SHOWS THE HERO A FUGITIVE
Four miles downstream, the river's banks grew a long mile apart, and the scenery was lonesome and a little wild. Here, as it chanced, there was flung across the water a thin, rocky island, well-wooded and of a respectable length. It lay nearest the western shore; and not a hamlet or even a house, it seemed, commanded it from either side.