“A shark!” Dot said in great surprise. “He must have been killed by the explosion. But see! Was there ever one as large as he?”
The shark was indeed a monster; fully sixteen feet long, with all his cruel teeth grinning he lay there a terrible thing.
“So you see, Mona,” Dot said quietly, “it is as I have told you. Your White Shadow was but one of God’s living creatures, created beyond doubt to do His will.”
“What was that?” said Curlie suddenly springing to his feet. A twig had snapped in the brush behind them. In an instant Curlie’s flashlight revealed an ugly, distorted black face. Quite as suddenly the face vanished into the night.
“That,” said Mona, “was Pluto, the bad black man, the bad white man’s friend.”
“This affair,” said Curlie, as they made their way down the rugged cliff in the dark, “is not at an end. We have been seen. Who can tell what will follow?”
“Very bad,” said Mona.
That night, at a late hour, Curlie sat once more by the window that looked out upon the garden at the chateau. He was alone. Dot, he hoped, was fast asleep. Johnny was far away. For all that he was dreaming once more of a life of peace in a garden of roses.
“Peace,” he said at last, flinging his arms wide. “What chance is there for peace with such a girl about? ‘Shoot the arrow’ she said, ‘Shoot the arrow!’ and once more ‘Shoot the arrow!’”
All the same in the end he found himself admiring the brown-eyed girl for her rare courage.