"We thought Wing was on board," she continued. "If so, I think I may be right in offering such a suggestion. Supposing that Wing came across these people when he went to London; took service with them in the hope of getting at their secret; supposing he's induced the other Chinese to secure Baxter and the Frenchman—that, in short, he's been playing the part of detective? Wouldn't that explain why they sent us away?"
"Partly—yes, perhaps wholly," I said, struggling with this new idea. "But—where and when and how do they intend—if your theory's correct—to do the handing over?"
"That's surely easy enough," she replied quickly. "There's nothing to do but sail the yawl into say Berwick harbour and call the police aboard. A very, very easy matter!"
"I wonder if it is so?" I answered, musingly. "It might be—but if we stay here until it's light and the tide's up, we shall see which way the yawl goes."
"It's high water between five and six o'clock," she remarked. "Anyway, it was between four and five yesterday morning at Ravensdene Court—which now seems to be far away, in some other world."
"Hungry?" I asked.
"Not a bit," she answered. "But—it's a long way since yesterday afternoon. We've seen things."
"We've certainly seen Mr. Netherfield Baxter," I observed.
"A fascinating man!" she said, with a laugh. "The sort of man—under other circumstances—one would like to have to dinner."
"Um!" said I. "A ready and plausible tongue, to be sure. I dare say there are women who would fall in love with such a man."