Ronald Hull sat smoking in her study. Something of the sneering coldness was gone from his face.
“You seem to be a most energetic planner,” he greeted me. “It was a lucky chance that brought you in here this evening, though at the time I must admit that I thought it a precious unlucky one. Are you sure you can run the boat?”
“Quite sure,” I told him coldly. I couldn’t bear his face or his manner: he repelled me as a snake repels. It was difficult even to be civil to him.
There were many parcels and packages on the floor, ready for carrying. Mr. Hull was still dressed like Mrs. McNab, but he carried a pile of men’s clothing over his arm.
“Well, we might as well make a start, if you think it’s safe,” he said. “This stuff will need more than one trip.”
It needed three, since Mrs. McNab could carry very little. Laden like camels, we crept down the kitchen stairs, across the crunching gravel of the yard, and over the paddock, stowing our burdens in the launch that lay beside the little jetty. Backwards and forwards we went, almost running on the return journeys to the house: the dread of detection suddenly heavy upon us, so that every clump of tea-tree seemed to contain the lurking shadow of a watching man. Just as we were leaving the yard on our last trip, Mr. Hull well ahead with the heaviest burdens, a window at the rear of the house was suddenly flung up. Mrs. McNab and I stopped, petrified with fear. A voice shrilled out, that was unmistakably the product of the County Cork: a voice in which wrath struggled valiantly with nervousness:
“Who’s there? Tell me now, or I’ll loose the dogs on ye!”
“Answer her quickly!” I whispered.
“It is I, Julia,” said Mrs. McNab in icy tones. They were really the only accents she could command, for she was shaking with dread; but they must have sounded sufficiently awe-inspiring to Julia, who ejaculated, “Howly Ann, ’tis the misthress!” and slammed down her window. We took to our heels and fled after Mr. Hull.
At the shore we lost no time, Julia’s outcry might easily have aroused the house, and for all we knew we might be followed already; so we hurried Mr. Hull into the launch, not daring to risk delay while he changed his clothes, which could just as well be done at the Island. He grumbled a little, saying that he was sick and tired of living in women’s garments; at which Mrs. McNab fixed him with a glance that, even in the moonlight, must have been daunting, for he broke off in the middle of a remark, and only muttered under his breath—Mrs. McNab took the tiller, and I switched on the engine. And it would not start!