In the height of her distress her employer came to her.
“We have decided to return by the Portuguese mail from Madeira,” he said, “and in order to catch the next steamer we shall sail in the Sans Souci to–night. Would it be convenient for you to go aboard the yacht this afternoon?”
“But what action am I to take with regard to my stolen letter?” she demanded. “You heard what I said to Mrs. Laing. That letter is my evidence against her.”
“It may have blown out of your window. There is generally a strong breeze just before dawn. At any rate, it is better lost. Such disputes are useless.”
“But it was of the utmost importance in other ways.”
“Young ladies’ love–letters always are,” he gurgled with forced laughter. “Still, if it really has gone, you can hardly propose to remain in Las Palmas on the off chance that it may be recovered.”
She felt that she was trapped, but for what purpose it was hard to imagine. Lord Fairholme had told her already that Baumgartner was very much annoyed with him for failing to remember what Warden had written, and it was now beyond doubt that the Sans Souci’s voyage to Funchal was a blind for some ulterior object.
In her dilemma, she thought of Mortimer. When Baumgartner went away, she hurried out of the hotel and drove straight to the harbor. A boat brought her to the Valiant; the commander himself met her at the gangway, and escorted her to his cabin.
“Sorry I couldn’t call last evening Miss Dane,” he said, “but I was detained on board unexpectedly. Things are happening, I hear.”
“Yes. Figuero is here, and we leave on the yacht for Funchal to–night.”