But as he stepped to the edge of the embankment he saw his engineer still lying on the ground sleeping soundly.
A small boat like a black speck disappeared around a curve in the shore.
“What on earth does that mean?” cried Mr. Stuart. Leaping over the sandy wall he ran toward his engineer. Mr. Stuart shook him gently. The man opened his eyes drowsily, yawned then raising himself to a sitting position, looked stupidly about.
“A strange boat has just put out from here,” said Mr. Stuart quietly. “We had better go out to the launch and see if all is well.”
The engineer rose to his feet, and still stupid from his heavy sleep, followed Mr. Stuart to the dinghy. The sound of voices aroused old Jim who clambered to his feet blinking rapidly.
Mr. Stuart and the engineer pushed off toward the launch, each feeling that he was about to come upon something irregular. Their premonitions proved wholly correct. The engine room of the pretty craft was a total wreck. The machinery had been taken apart so deftly, it seemed as though an engineer alone could have accomplished it, while the most important parts of the engine were missing.
“Whose work is this?” ejaculated Mr. Stuart, clenching his fists in impotent rage. Suddenly it dawned upon him what the wrecking of his launch meant. He was on an uninhabited shore with seven women, his engineer, and colored servant, with no prospect of getting away that night.
He felt in his pockets. A pen-knife was his only tool or weapon.
Mr. Stuart rowed back to shore to break the disagreeable news to the members of his party. But the sleepers were awake on his return. They had seen Mr. Stuart row hurriedly out to the launch with the engineer, and surmised instantly that something had happened.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” wailed the countess, when Mr. Stuart had explained their plight. “Must I always bring ill-luck to you?”