“Well, young lady,” a gruff Irish voice said as Pearl spun round to listen, “you seem born to adventure.”
The girl found herself looking into the eyes of Captain Patrick O’Connor, he of the pirate crew of the Black Gull.
“Yes, I do,” she replied in uncertain tones.
“Lay by this, young lady,” the Captain went on, “that buoy chain was cut.”
“Cut?”
“Certain was. Them buoys are inspected regular. Look! They’ve brought the buoy alongside. They’re hoistin’ her on board. Mark my word, the chain’s not worn much, not enough to cause her to break.”
It was not. As they examined the end of the chain, they found no marks of hammer, file or hack-saw, but the last link was nearly as perfect as when first forged.
“Of course, they wouldn’t leave the cut link to tell on ’em,” O’Connor leaned over to whisper in the girl’s ear. “They’re told on sure enough, all the same.”
“But-but—” the girl stammered, trying in vain to understand, “if I hadn’t found it, if I hadn’t silenced its lying tongue, you’d have gone on the rocks.”
“So we would, young lady. And there’s them hidin’ away along these here waters as would have been glad to see it. There’s twenty-four men aboard this ship, that’s hated worse than death by some.