“Yes, sir.”
“You hear? It is exactly as I have told you,” said Courtenay, glancing at the others. “I must explain to you, Mr. Boyle, that I wished you to state the facts in front of witnesses before I gave you my reasons for cross-examining you on the matter. Mr. Walker and I have been certain, all along, that the furnaces were blown up wilfully. Now our suspicions are proved. This morning, after a careful scrutiny, we came across a number of lumps of coal cleverly constructed out of small pieces glued together. In the center of each lump was a stick of dynamite, protected by an asbestos wrapper. It was undoubtedly the intent of some miscreant that a number of these lumps should be fed into the furnaces. This actually occurred, as we know, but, by the mercy of Providence, the ship did not experience the full power of the explosion, or she must have sunk like a stone.”
“Huh,” grunted Boyle. “Who holds the insurance?”
“The shippers of the cargo, of course—Messrs. Baring, Thompson & Miguel.”
“Worth a quarter of a million sterling, ain’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Huh, it’s a lot of money.”
There was a momentary silence. Elsie’s eyes grew larger, and she became rather pale. As was her habit when puzzled, she placed a finger on her lips. Christobal noted her action. Indeed, he missed few of her characteristic habits or expressions. He laughed quietly.
“I think you are quite right, Miss Maxwell,” he said. “This is one of the many instances in which silence is golden.”
Taken by surprise, she blushed and dropped her hand. But Courtenay said promptly: