And later still a row-boat came swinging briskly up the quiet channel where the yacht lay and passed her at fifty yards. A man and a woman sat in it, presumably bound for Hunston, and they stared at the hidden, detected Cypriani with a degree of frank interest which suggested that they would not fail to mention the strange sight to every acquaintance they met in town.
"That's the beauty about a yacht," thought Varney, annoyed. "You might as well try to hide an elephant in a hall room."
But his mind soon strayed from the pair of bumpkins and went off to other and more pressing matters. He had now, not one great difficulty to meet and overcome, but two. One of them was to make Uncle Elbert's daughter keep her engagement with him. The other was to prevent the Gazette from linking the name of the Cypriani with the name of Carstairs to-morrow morning. About the first of these he allowed himself no doubts. If the worst came to the worst, he would turn to Mrs. Carstairs. Brutal it might be to compel the mother to introduce the kidnapper to his quarry, her daughter; but that was no fault of his. He would do his duty by Mrs. Carstairs's husband, no matter who got hurt. Miss Carstairs should come to the Cypriani to-morrow as she had promised. In heaven or earth, on land or sea, there was no power which should keep him from having his will there.
But then there was the Gazette. Smith, the clever, would doubt that the Cypriani had really gone back to New York. Suppose, since he could not find her, he would venture a few shrewd guesses in his paper to-morrow morning connecting that "secret mission" the Daily had mentioned with Mrs. Elbert Carstairs. Miss Carstairs would see what the Gazette said; and what questions would she have to ask him before she would come as his guest to the yacht?…
A ripple of water fell across the young man's thought, and he glanced up. The college professor, whom the current had washed much nearer now, fancying, it appeared, that he had got a bite, had suddenly thrown himself far over the edge of his canoe, stretching his rod to the farthest reach. The slender birch-bark tipped so violently that even he noticed it; and the next instant, he sprang back again, rocking at a great rate.
"Simpleton!" thought Varney. "He will go over in a minute…."
Now her face rose before him as he had seen it first last night at Stanhope's cottage, radiant as a dream come true—looking at him and saying: "I'd like it very much if you could just trust me!" And he saw her again when she had looked at him, eye to eye over the many heads before the theatre, with only blank unrecognition in her glance, or had there been, after all, a sort of latent sorrowfulness there? And then he saw her once more, as she stood in the little box-office, her cheeks suddenly stained red, when she begged him, please, not to ask her to discuss it any more….
A sudden sharp thought came to him, putting all his imaginings to flight, a thought so vital and so obvious that it was incredible that it had not once crossed his mind before. If the Gazette doubted that he had returned to New York, if it was still on his trail and still wanted to embarrass him, it would send a man straight to Mrs. Carstairs.
How could he possibly have overlooked that? With the secret of the Cypriani's ownership out, of course that would be the first thing Smith would think of: to ask Mrs. Carstairs what had brought her husband's yacht to Hunston. And when the reporter went, who could say what damaging admission he might surprise out of the poor lady, or at the least what inklings to hang diabolical guesses upon? Worst of all, he might see Miss Carstairs herself—awaken no one knew what suspicions in her already perplexed mind.
He sprang up and glanced at his watch. It was twenty minutes past four. Every minute had become precious now, and waiting for Peter was of course not to be thought of. While he loitered ineffectually here, Coligny Smith, four miles away, might be doing his plans the irremediable injury. And he started for the cabin swiftly to get his hat.