Bull waited while the other perused both letters. Then, as Bat looked up questioningly, he went on:
"That telegram got here half an hour back," he said. Then he shrugged. "The woman's on the Myra, and the vessel's been sighted off the headland. She'll be along in two hours."
"And what're you doin' about it?"
Bat's eyes were searching. Perhaps Father Adam's letter had told him something it had failed to tell the other.
"I'll see her right away," Bull laughed. "If she feels like stopping around and getting a sight of the things we're doin' she's welcome. She can put up at the visitor's house. It 'ud do me good for her to pass the news on to the folk she comes from."
But Bat's manner had none of the light confidence of the other. Bitter hatred of the Skandinavia was deeply ingrained in him. He shook his head.
"Keep 'em guessin'," he said. "It'll worry 'em—that way."
Then he passed the letters back, and dropped into the chair that was always his.
"But this woman," he went on, in obvious puzzlement. "It's—it's kind of new, I guess. Then there's Father Adam's message. That don't hand us much."
Bull's lightness passed.