Springing out of bed, she rushed to the window. The next instant she was shaking Jeanne as she exclaimed excitedly:
“Jeanne! Jeanne! Wake up! There is a fire! A big fire somewhere on the bay!”
After struggling into their outer garments, they rushed to the water’s edge and launched their boat.
They had not gone far before they discovered the location of the fire.
“It’s on Gamblers’ Island.” Her voice was tense with emotion. “It’s the gamblers’ cottage. It will burn to the ground.”
This last seemed certain. Already the flames were mounting high. Even in the village there was scant fire protection. On the smaller islands there was none.
Florence seemed to hear the beating of her own heart. Here was swift revenge for a cowardly crime.
But was it revenge? The lady cop had said the gamblers were gone. Perhaps they were not all gone. One might have remained behind to light the blaze, to cover some evil deed. Who could tell?
Then again, the fire might have been accidental, a mouse chewing a match.
All this time Florence was rowing sturdily. They were approaching the scene of the fire. Other boats were coming. Rowboats, motor boats, speed boats, like particles of steel attracted by the magnet, they came nearer and nearer to a common center, the fire.