“Yes. It was a man in a diving rig. He’d taken off the helmet. Now, what do you think of that?”
Quite out of breath, the blonde haired little French girl dropped down upon a berth at the side of the cabin.
“Man in a diving suit.” Florence spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “Going to dive, of course.”
“But why?”
“That’s right. Why?” Florence’s brow wrinkled.
“I wish—” she said slowly after a period of silence, “wish they hadn’t come.”
She was to wish this many times in the days that were to follow. And then she was to change her mind.
CHAPTER II
MYSTERIES OF NIGHT
As Florence and Jeanne sat there in the dark, whispering and wondering about the strange black schooner and its purpose in these waters, wondering too whether they dared light a candle and heat water for tea, something moved in the berth above their heads, and they became once more conscious of the third member of their party, Greta Clara Bronson.
You have been wondering perhaps how it came about that Jeanne and Florence, who spent so much of their time in great cities, were to be found living on this wreck off the primeval shores of Isle Royale. You will find the answer in the third girl, Greta Clara Bronson, who now slid her bare feet over the edge of the berth and prepared to descend.