“There!” she exclaimed, “there he is!”
“Sure enough. Let’s have a look.” Florence dragged a pair of heavy field glasses to her eyes.
“Seems real enough,” she murmured. “White boat with a red gunwale, sort of short and chubby. I’d know that boat anywhere. What a powerful motor he must have! How he does dart about!”
“If we were there he would vanish,” Jeanne insisted.
“Jeanne, you’re a dreamer.” Florence let the glasses drop to her side. “But then, what is one to expect from a gypsy, you—”
At that instant a cry escaped her lips. “Look! Only look, Jeanne!” She had turned half-about. “Smoke everywhere! The whole island is on fire!”
This seemed indeed true. To judge distances was difficult but it looked as though the nearest fire must not be more than ten miles away. Beyond that the whole island was hidden by smoke.
Even as Jeanne looked, Florence exclaimed again, “Look!”
Once again, dragging the heavy fieldglasses to her eyes, she studied a mass of rocks that at some distance rose above the treetops.
“A man,” she murmured, “A man in a bright red sweater. Must be five miles away, where no one lives.”