Two or three hours later, he burst into the room where Bufton sat--he having passed the interval in a visit to the Nederland, and in warning the captain that he was to be ready to depart the moment his victim was on board, and in telling him, too, that there would be no female captives since his plot had fallen through--burst in, and, without any premeditation, said--
"Bufton, we are undone. I doubt much if the women can come. The Mignonne is back, she has passed up the river in this accursed fog."
"Not come!" Bufton exclaimed. "Not come. What, then, is to be done?"
"Hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst. How can they come, if Sir Geoffrey is back? They will know the letter was a lie, a concoction."
"What to do? What to do now?" almost whined Bufton, his hand to chin.
"There is but one thing to do! They might have got away before he moored--have been on their road. The frigate could not be seen till she was close to her anchorage. We must go to the spot where they were to be attacked, and wait their coming."
"Ah!" exclaimed Bufton, and, try as he might, could not prevent a look of exultation from appearing on his face. "Yes, we must do that."
While Granger, seeing that look--what was there he would not have seen on the features of the man he had watched like a lynx for so long?--said--
"Yet, 'tis a pity, too. Not to have one victim--not one!"
"Ay, not one," Bufton repeated aloud, though to himself he said, "All the same, there will be one. And one that must be made sure of!"