“Yes, to look at,” Dave laughed. “That’s as far as we’ll get.” He glanced down at his smoke-blackened clothes.
“But Commodore,” Florence exclaimed. “What about that man? Did he go on the Iroquois?”
“What man?” The commodore stared at her.
“A short, stout man with a dark face.”
“I don’t recollect seeing him,” was the reply. Florence stared at the commodore, but said no more. Somehow she had felt all along that this man did not intend to leave the island. But why? She could not answer.
“I believe he’s still here,” she thought. “Perhaps back there somewhere in the dark just now.” The thought gave her a sudden turn. “But why should I care?” she whispered almost fiercely, “Why should he wish to break us? ‘Break you’—yes, those were his very words.” Dave had said they were broke. That was not quite true. They were paying expenses. That was something. But if someone robbed them of their few passengers? What then?
“We’d have to leave the island,” she thought in sudden consternation.
CHAPTER III
BEAUTY AND A THREAT
Slipping away from the main dock, the Wanderer moved down the moonlit harbor to find a berth close to the brightly lighted lodge.
After a hasty meal of boiled potatoes and trout fried in deep fat, topped off with coffee and apple pie, Florence felt much better.