"You'll be busy for a while with the dishes and things, won't you?" he asked with an air meant to seem guileless.
"Oh, yes; for some time," she replied quickly.
"I—I think I'll take a stroll round the island. There might be something like a boat hidden away somewhere along the beach."
"You prefer to go alone?"
"If you don't mind."
"Not in the least. I've plenty to occupy my idle hands. If I can find needle and thread, for instance...." She indicated her clothing with a humorously rueful gesture.
"To be sure," he agreed, far too visibly relieved. Then his wits stumbled. "I want to think out some things," he added most superfluously.
"You won't go out of sight?" she pleaded through the window.
"It can't be done," he called back, strolling out of the dooryard with much show of idle indecision.
His real purpose was, in fact, definite. There was another body to be accounted for. It was quite possible that the sea might have given it up at some other point along the island coast. True: there was no second gathering of gulls to lend colour to this grisly theory; yet the danger was one to be provided against, since she was not to know.