After touching at Atlantic, it was decided to sail the yacht to the northward, along the mainland shore, with the little red skiff still in tow. There was more depth of water on this side and, in consequence, a larger number of inhabited points, from which news might be gathered. At the end, there was a lighthouse, where the keeper would have seen every boat that passed.
The yacht stopped at the Squire Goodwin landing. There they learned of the recent presence of the physician and his patient. Thence, they went on to the lighthouse, where they were reassured by the keeper's firm assertion that the tender had not passed. It seemed to Van Dusen now that the little boat must be bottled up, so that its discovery and capture could be only a matter of a few hours. But there still remained one tract to be explored.
For the voyaging over these shallows, the red skiff was needed. The three men entered it, cast off from the yacht, hoisted sail, and set forward toward the desolate land of the sand dunes, the wild ponies, the goats and the beach-combers.... And it was Captain Ichabod who sat in the stern, handling proudly both sheets and tiller.
CHAPTER XX
The Truth Unalloyed
The lowly home where Ethel had passed the previous night was as a palace compared with this structure of beach-provided boards and shingles, over the threshold of which she was ushered, supported on the arm of her protector, Doctor Gifford Garnet. As she stepped over the sill, she had a sense of apprehension, that ran over her flesh like chills. They were the physical expression of fright. She was downright afraid of this dark, dank, dungeon-like room. Her emotion was emphasized by a realization that her escort was a mentally unbalanced, drug-mad man. Ethel, realizing something of the danger in her environment, had set herself to carry a bold demeanor. She would not let the man know either her fears or her suspicions. She meant to assume toward him an air of confidence.
There was a single window in the room, which had a wooden shutter, swung on leather hinges. This was closed, so effectively that not a particle of light filtered in from outside. It was only by the illumination through the open door that any light entered. Ethel hobbled across the room to the window, and threw open the shutter.
The setting sun threw its rays freely into the interior of the shack, as the girl looked about her. She saw tiers of bunks on either side. In the center of the room were a table and some rough chairs. An oil lamp stood upon the table. In a corner of the room were a cook-stove and the ordinary utensils for cooking. A curious conglomeration showed on some shelves at one side. In some of the bunks, there were blankets. Ethel regarded those blankets with satisfaction. They would mean warmth for the night, should she be compelled to spend it here.
The Doctor's nerves did not improve. While the girl dropped down to rest on one of the uncomfortable chairs, he walked the floor to and fro in silence. His muscles were twitching, and his eyes were wide-lidded, though the pupils were only pin-points.