“Choose?” Bihari laughed a great roaring laugh. “Have we not traveled half way round the world that we might see her? Have we not traded our vans for a boat that we might come to this place? Show us the way.”
“You saw the wreck as you came in?”
“Ah, yes.”
“That is the place.”
“The wreck?” Bihari stared.
“The wreck,” she repeated.
Without another word this strange skipper mounted the deck to begin that unusual directing of his craft.
Four words came back to Florence, as with her boat in tow, she rode in luxurious ease out of the bay. “We will forget him.” Bihari had said that. He had been speaking of the stranger. Could they safely forget him? Something seemed to tell her they could not.
CHAPTER XI
SONG OF THE PHANTOM
It is not difficult to imagine Jeanne’s wild joy when, after an hour of disappointment because she had no boat for rowing to Duncan’s Bay, she saw the gay gypsy boat slip from out the Narrows and head straight for the spot where she stood upon the sloping deck.