Still the deserted Susan Jane made no sign. Twelve o’clock struck from the little church at the back of the town, and she was still intact.
“Something’s gone wrong,” said an old fisherman with a bad way of putting things. “Now’s the time for somebody to go and tow her out to sea.”
There was no response.
“To save Lowport,” said the speaker feelingly. “If I was only twenty years younger——”
“It’s old men’s work,” said a voice.
The skipper, straining his eyes through the gloom in the direction of his craft, said nothing. He began to think that she had escaped after all.
Two o’clock struck and the crowd began to disperse. Some of the bolder inhabitants who were fidgety about draughts closed their windows, and children who had been routed out of their beds to take a nocturnal walk inland were led slowly back, By three o’clock the danger was felt to be over, and day broke and revealed the forlorn Susan Jane still riding at anchor.
“I’m going aboard,” said the skipper suddenly; “who’s coming with me?”
Jem and the mate and the town-policeman volunteered, and, borrowing the boat which had served them before, pulled swiftly out to their vessel and, taking the hatches off with unusual gentleness, commenced their search. It was nervous work at first, but they became inured to it, and, moreover, a certain suspicion, slight at first, but increasing in intensity as the search proceeded, gave them some sense of security. Later still they began to eye each other shamefacedly.
“I don’t believe there’s anything there,” said the policeman, sitting down and laughing boisterously: “that boy’s been making a fool of you.”