Kirkwood, in a fever of hope and an ague of fear, saw a man sprint furiously across the platform and throw himself on the forward steps of their coach, on the very instant of the start.
Presently he entered by the forward door and walked slowly through, narrowly inspecting the various passengers. As he approached the seats occupied by Kirkwood and Dorothy Calendar, his eyes encountered the young man's, and he leered evilly. Kirkwood met the look with one that was like a kick, and the fellow passed with some haste into the car behind.
"Who was that?" demanded the girl, without moving her head.
"How did you know?" he asked, astonished. "You didn't look—"
"I saw your knuckles whiten beneath the skin.... Who was it?"
"Hobbs," he acknowledged bitterly; "the mate of the Alethea."
"I know.... And you think—?"
"Yes. He must have been ashore when I was on board the brigantine; he certainly wasn't in the cabin. Evidently they hunted him up, or ran across him, and pressed him into service.... You see, they're watching every outlet.... But we'll win through, never fear!"