But in spite of these assurances, Copplestone slept little. He was up, dressed, and on deck by sunrise, staring around him in a fresh autumn morning to get some notion of the yacht's whereabouts, and he had just managed to make out a mere filmy line of land far to the westward when Audrey appeared at his elbow. There was no one of any importance near them and Copplestone impulsively seized her hands.
"I've scarcely slept!" he blurted out, gazing intently at her.
"Couldn't! Blaming myself for letting you get into this confounded mess!
You're all right?"
Audrey responded a little to the pressure of his hands before she disengaged her own.
"It wasn't your fault," she said. "It's nobody's fault. Don't blame Mr. Vickers—he couldn't foresee this. Yes, I'm all right—and I slept like a top. What's the use of worrying? Do you know," she went on, lowering her voice and drawing nearer to him, "I believe something's going to come of all this—something that'll clear matters up once and for all."
"Why?" asked Copplestone, wonderingly. "What makes you think that?"
"Don't know—instinct, intuitiveness, perhaps," she answered. "Besides—I'm dead certain we're not the only people—I don't mean crew and Captain—aboard the Pike. I believe there's somebody else. There's some mystery, anyway. Keep that to yourself," she said as Andrius and Vickers appeared from below. "Don't show any sign—wait to see how things turn out."
She turned away from him to greet the other two as unconcernedly as if there were nothing unusual in the situation, and Copplestone marvelled at her coolness. He himself, not so well equipped with patience, was feverishly anxious to know how things would turn out, and when. But the day went by and nothing happened, except that Captain Andrius was very polite to his guests and that the yacht, a particularly fast sailer, continued to make headway through the grey seas, sometimes in bare sight of land and sometimes out of it. To one or two inquiries as to the fulfilment of his promise Andrius made no more answer than a reassuring nod; once when Vickers pressed him, he replied curtly that the day was not yet over. Vickers drew Copplestone aside on hearing that.
"Look here!" he said. "I've been reckoning things up as near as I can. I make out that we've been running due north, or north-east ever since we left Scarhaven last night. I reckon, too, that this vessel makes quite twenty-two or three, knots an hour. We must be off the extreme north-east coast of Scotland. And night's coming on!"
"There are ports there that he can put into," said Copplestone. "The thing is—will he keep his promise? Remember!—he must know very well that if we once land anywhere within reach of a telegraph office, we can wire particulars about him to every port in the world if we like—and he's got to go somewhere, eventually, you know."
Vickers shook his head as if this were a problem he would give up. It was beyond him, he said, to even guess at what Andrius was after, or what was going to happen. And nothing did happen until, as the three prisoners sat at dinner with their polite gaoler, the Pike came to a sudden stop and hung gently on a quiet sea. Andrius looked up and smiled.