“He’s away,” she said flatly.
The man could see her white face and compressed lips.
“I remember,” he said. “ ’E kyme up this afternoon ter warn me an Mr. Templar that the Tiger was meanin’ ter do us in to-night. An’ I sore ’im drivin orf along the Ilfracombe road in the farmer’s trap, me eyes bein’ rather good. . . . Carn’s fahndart somefing. Wod did ’e wanter go ter Ilfracombe for?”
“If he has found out anything,” said the girl swiftly, “he probably went off to call in some reinforcements. Perhaps he found out about the ship coming in to-night. And in that case he’ll be back soon.”
“Mos’ likely,” agreed Orace cautiously. “But yer carn’t bet on it, yer know.”
She bit her lip.
“That’s true. We’ve got to make our arrangements and leave him out. If he arrives, so much the better. I don’t know,” said Patricia slowly, “that I wouldn’t rather find the Tiger before Carn does.”
Orace, that simple soul, was amazed at the concentrated savageness of her low, even voice. Women, in his philosophy, did not behave like this. But Patricia had the gift of leadership, and he had ceased to question her authority. He made no comment.
“We must wait till they come in for the gold,” she said. “We might as well go back to the Pill Box and have dinner. We shall want all our strength.”
Of a sudden the girl had become a remorseless fighting machine. She had fallen into her part as if she had been born and trained for no other purpose. It was not so much that the rôle fitted her as that she was able to adapt herself to the rôle. She ruthlessly suppressed her grief, finding that the rush of action took her mind off the awful thought of Simon’s fate. She allowed place in her brain for no other thought than that of trapping the Tiger and squaring up the account, and she concentrated on the task with every atom of force she could muster.