“Edith, dear, I can’t take my eyes off that horrid-looking man in the fore part of the vessel, who seems trying to avoid our inspection. Although he looks as dark as a mulatto, I believe it is none other than that arch-fiend Falcon.”
“Oh, Miss Chain, if that is so, we are undone, and you may depend that we have been kidnapped. That letter must have been a forgery, and not from the harbour-master’s agent at all.”
“Well, these men will not surely dare to offer us any insult. Perhaps they are holding us to ransom, trying to make terms so as to escape prosecution for the robbery of the securities. One thing is certain, we must not show the slightest sign of fear.”
“This vessel,” said Miss Dove, “is evidently a hired yacht.”
“And going,” added Miss Chain, “goodness knows where. Ah! there is that cry again from that poor woman! By the way, who can she be? Is she also in their power? Do you know, dear, that her voice seems oddly familiar to me. If it were not quite impossible, I would say it was my mother’s.”
“I told you, dear,” said Miss Dove, “that we had more trouble before us. What will my poor, dear father do, when we fail to return?”
“I am sure that God will help us, Miss Dove. Oh, listen to that poor sea-sick creature below.”
“Couldn’t you slip down in the saloon and speak to the stewardess about her, my dear Miss Chain?”
“We ought not to separate,” said her companion. “By the way, how are we off for money?”
“I have very little,” said Miss Dove.