Everyone looked at Dolly in astonishment. It was a strange proposition to come from her, since she usually was the one who wanted to fight if there seemed to be any possibility of success. Now, however, she looked nervous.
“I don’t see how we can, Dolly,” said Eleanor. “And, really, I don’t believe there’s any danger here. Mr. Holmes isn’t on the yacht, and these men won’t do anything until he is there to direct them. I shall telegraph to Mr. Jamieson in the morning, and he will probably come here. He can reach here by noon, and I think we will be all right here until then.”
Dolly said nothing more to her, but when she was alone with Bessie she expressed herself more freely.
“I’m afraid of those men,” she said, with a shiver. “I think they’re far more dangerous than the gypsies were. Didn’t you think, from the way they talked, that they would do anything if they thought they would get well paid for it?”
“Yes, but we’re warned, Dolly. It isn’t as if we didn’t have any idea, as they believe, that there is danger here. So I don’t think we need to be afraid.”
On the beach, between the sea and the tents, the blaze of the camp fire flickered in the darkness, casting an uneven light on the beach. On the yacht all was still and peaceful. One by one her lights had gone out, until only the anchor lights, which she was required by law to show, remained.
“They’ve gone to sleep on board the yacht,” whispered Bessie. “That looks as if they didn’t mean to do anything to-night, doesn’t it, Dolly?”
“I suppose so, Bessie. But I’m not satisfied.”
Neither, wholly, in spite of her reassuring words, was Eleanor. Had there been any way of moving from the camp that night, she would probably have taken it. But there seemed to be nothing for it but to wait there until morning, at least.
“We’ll stay here,” she said, as good-nights were being exchanged, “but we’ll set a guard for the night. Margery, I wish you and Mary King would take the first watch. You’ll be relieved at one o’clock. You’re not too tired, are you?”