“Smugglers!” she whispered the word. Rumors had run rife in the bay these last months. Dark craft, plying the waters, were supposed to be smugglers’ boats. A bomb had sunk a revenue cutter. “Smugglers!” the people had whispered among themselves.
She thought now of the three bolts of red cloth in the beached schooner’s hold, and of the dory that had passed them in the night.
“Smugglers!” she thought. Then, “Probably nothing to it. Only a wood hauler.”
Then her heart skipped a beat. She had thought of the rope ladder. What a hiding place for smuggled goods, this deserted six-master, lying alone in the dark waters of the bay!
“What if it were used as a smuggler’s store room,” she thought as her pulse gave a sudden leap. There was a fire laid in the cabin. The ladder was down. “What if some of them are on board at this very moment.”
She thought of the slim city girl sitting alone there in the dark. Turning, she started toward the cabin when a sudden sound from the water arrested her.
The next instant, a few hundred yards from the ship, a light flared up. The sight that struck her eye at that moment froze the blood in her veins.
For a full half moment she stood stock still. Then with a sudden effort she shook herself into action to go tip-toeing down the deck and thrust her head in at the cabin door and whisper:
“Betty! Betty! Quick! Get into your clothes! There’s something terrible going to happen. Quick! We must get off the ship!”