“Thank goodness for my own kit!” he remarked. “Your clothes have been very useful, my dear Marie, but skirts are ‘the burden of an honour unto which I was not born,’ and I’m uncommonly glad to see the last of them. We’d better get this stuff up as soon as possible; you two must hurry away.”
We loaded ourselves again, and returned to the hut. Our passenger was not excited by its aspect.
“Pretty dingy sort of hole!” he remarked, peering into the darkness within. “Thank goodness it’s a warm night: I’ll roll up in my blankets under a tree. There are probably several varieties of things that creep and crawl inside that shanty.”
“You will remember to keep out of sight of the mainland in daylight, Ronald?”
“Oh yes—I’ll be careful,” he answered lightly.
“I hope you will. You should conceal everything in the morning, as soon as it is light—there are rocks and hollows all over the island—you will have no difficulty in stowing everything away. Do remember that there will be many watchful eyes along the coast during the next few days: you cannot be too cautious.”
“Well, you’ve done all you can for the present, so you needn’t worry,” her brother replied. “If they get me now it will be plain John Smith they will get, who does not know of even the existence of such a place as The Towers, or such a family as that of McNab! When may I expect to see you again?”
“We will come in three or four nights—it is impossible for me to say exactly when I can get away unnoticed. By that time there may be news from Adelaide about your future movements. You will have to listen for the beat of the engine—we will try not to be later than ten o’clock.”
“Right,” he said. “Whistle three times when you stop, so that I may know for certain that it is your engine and not a police-boat’s. I suppose you can whistle, Miss Earle?—you look as if you could!”
“I suppose you can carry up the remainder of these things?” I gave back icily. “It is quite time I got Mrs. McNab home—she is tired out.”