He was so genuinely relieved when she said, “No,” that Miss Pilbeam, despite her father's wrongs, began to soften a little. The upsetter of policemen was certainly good-looking; and his manner towards her so nicely balanced between boldness and timidity that a slight feeling of sadness at his lack of moral character began to assail her.
“Suppose you are caught after all?” she said, presently. “You will go to prison.”
The skipper shrugged his shoulders. “I don't suppose I shall be,” he replied.
“Aren't you sorry?” persisted Miss Pilbeam, in a vibrant voice.
“Certainly not,” said the skipper. “Why, I shouldn't have seen you if I hadn't done it.”
Miss Pilbeam looked at the clock and pondered. It wanted but five minutes to nine. Five minutes in which to make up a mind that was in a state of strong unrest.
“I suppose it is time for me to go,” said the skipper, watching her. Miss Pilbeam rose. “No, don't go,” she said, hastily. “Do be quiet. I want to think.”
Captain Bligh waited in respectful silence, heedless of the fateful seconds ticking from the mantelpiece. At the sound of a slow, measured footfall on the cobblestone path outside Miss Pilbeam caught his arm and drew him towards the door.
“Go!” she breathed. “No, stop!”
She stood trying in vain to make up her mind. “Upstairs,” she said. “Quick!” and, leading the way, entered her father's bedroom, and, after a moment's thought, opened the door of a cupboard in the corner.