Vickers turned to Audrey.
"My fault!" he said contritely. "All my fault! But I meant it for the best—it was the thing to do—and who on earth could have foreseen this. Look here!—we've got to think pretty quick, Copplestone, that captain, now? Has he done this on his own hook, or—is there somebody on board who's at the top of things?"
"I don't see any good in thinking quick, or asking one's self questions," replied Copplestone. "We're locked in here. We've got Miss Greyle into this mess—and her mother will be anxious and alarmed. I wish we'd let this confounded yacht go where it liked before ever we'd—"
"Don't!" broke in Audrey. "That's no good. Mr. Vickers certainly did what he felt to be best—and who could foresee this? And I'm not afraid—and as for my mother, if we don't return very soon, why, she knows where we are and there are police in Scarhaven, and—"
"How long are we going to be where we are?" asked Copplestone, grimly.
"The thing's moving!"
There was no doubt of that very pertinent fact. Somewhere beneath them, machinery began to work; above them there was hurry and scurry as ropes and stays were thrown off. But so beautifully built was that yacht, and so almost sound-proof the luxurious cabin in which they were prisoners, that little of the noise of departure came to them. However, there was no mistaking the increasing throb of the engines nor the fact that the vessel was moving, and Vickers suddenly sprang on a lounge seat and moved away a silken screen which curtained a port-hole window.
"There's no doubt of that!" he exclaimed.
"We're going through the outer harbour—we've passed the light at the end of the quay. What do these people mean by carrying us out to sea? Copplestone!—with all submission to you—whether it's relevant or not, I wish we knew more of that captain chap!"
"I know him," remarked Audrey. "I have been on this yacht before. His name is Andrius. He's an American—or American-Norwegian, or something like that."
"And the crew?" asked Vickers. "Are they Scarhaven men?"