So Sally had to go, and they all trooped down to the pier, where Mr. Hooper’s sailboat was bobbing about on the tide.
Tom insisted that he would take the Argo, to convoy the girls home; but Milly also insisted that he should do nothing of the kind; she knew how to handle a boat quite as well as her brother, the wind was right, the water smooth, and she had often sailed later in the evening than that. Nevertheless when Milly’s boat was out from the island, the campers embarked in the Argo and sailed along after them, until the lights of Barmouth were visible right ahead. Then, with a good-night shout, the crew of the Argo brought their craft about and headed back for the pier.
They walked through the moonlit woods to their camp, cleaned the dishes, and made things snug for the night. As Ben, seated on a log, pulled off his shoes, he said to Tom, who sat near him: “Did you hear what Sally said about that desk in the corner?”
“Duck of a thing—some such nonsense.”
“No. She said, ‘Mahogany, of course. And what long, fluted, shiny legs.’”
“Perhaps she did. I don’t remember.”
“Doesn’t that convey anything to your mind, Tom?”
“Can’t say it does. Mahogany—legs. Oh, I’m too sleepy to think of anything.”
“Well, it conveys something to me,” said Ben. “I think maybe I’ve got a clue, thanks to innocent Sally. I suppose it’s too late to go back to the house to-night?”
“It’s too late to go anywhere except to sleep,” answered Tom shortly. “I guess your clue will keep. If it’s got anything to do with Sir Peter’s treasure, it’s kept for a hundred years.”