"All right," said Pembroke. "Be sure not to let any one know what you are doing."
"Sure I won't, sir. I've been pretty much worried myself about Miss Nancy. Didn't seem a bit like Miss Nance to go off without sayin' a word to anybody.
"Well, hurry along now, Jesse."
"Yes, sir."
Tom's next task was to try to explain to Mrs. Frost without alarming her. She happily jumped to the idea that Dan had gotten trace of Nancy, had gone to fetch her, and would return with her before nightfall. So Tom left her quite cheerfully knitting in her room for the day.
From time to time during the morning Tom wandered into the bar always to find Monsieur de Boisdhyver absorbed in his writing before the fire. The morning passed—a long restless morning for Pembroke—and nothing had happened. Dan had not returned. He tried to think out a plan of action. He went into the north wing of the Inn and barricaded the door leading from the bowling alley into the hallway. He made sure that all other doors and windows were fastened, and he put the key of the door that opened from the bar into the old wing into his pocket. Then he looked at the doors and windows in the south wing.
About noon, as he was standing at an upper window anxiously scanning the landscape for any sign of his friend, Tom saw the Marquis, wrapped in his great black cloak, emerge from the gallery, go down the steps by the Red Oak, and walk rapidly down the avenue of maples. He went along the Port Road, to the point where a little road branched off and led to the beach of the Cove; here he turned and walked in the direction of the beach. With the field glass Tom could follow him quite easily as he picked his way through the slush.
Beyond, on the waters of the Cove, the Southern Cross rode at anchor. A small boat had put off from the schooner, two seamen at the oars, and a woman seated in the stern. The boat reached the shore, the lady was lifted out upon the sands, the men jumped in again, pushed off and rowed briskly back to the schooner. Tom could not distinguish the lady's features, but from the style of her dress, cut in so different a fashion than that the ladies of Caesarea were wont to display, and from the character of her easy graceful walk, he judged that that was the Madame de la Fontaine, of whom Dan had told him the day before. The lady, whoever she might be, advanced along the beach and turned into the road down which the Marquis de Boisdhyver was going to meet her. Tom could see her extend her hand, and the old gentleman, bending ceremoniously, lift it to his lips. Then leaning against a stone wall beside a meadow of bedraggled snow, they engaged in animated conversation. The lady talked, the Marquis talked. They shrugged their shoulders, they nodded their heads, they pointed this way and then that. Poor Tom felt he must know what was being said. At last, their conference ended, they parted as ceremoniously as they had met, the lady starting across the Dunes and the Marquis retracing his steps toward the Inn.
In the meantime, fortunately before the Marquis reached the Port Road, Jesse had returned, accompanied by the able-bodied Ezra Manners, and laden with the supply of arms and ammunition that Pembroke had ordered.
Within half-an-hour Tom and Monsieur de Boisdhyver were seated together in the dining-room.