“We’re certainly not that, anyhow,” Dennis agreed emphatically. “It is a real mystery, Ronald, my boy. A real danger, as well, I’m afraid. But we’ll stick at it till the end.”
“Thanks, old fellow,” I said simply, and then I added, “I wonder what can have become of Hilderman?”
“Gad!” cried Dennis, in sudden alarm. “He can’t have fallen into the river by any chance?”
We jumped to our feet and looked about us.
“No,” I said presently, “he hasn’t fallen into the river.” And I pointed a finger out to sea. The Baltimore II., churning a frantic way across to Glasnabinnie, seemed to divide the intervening water in one great white slash.
“I wonder,” said Dennis quietly, “is that funk, or isn’t it?”
We watched the diminishing craft for a minute or two in silence, and finally decided to keep an open mind on the subject until we might have an opportunity to see Hilderman and hear his own explanation.
“Talking about explanations, what about the left-handed schoolmaster with the red-headed wife, or whatever it was?” I asked.
“That was a bit of luck,” said Dennis modestly, “and I will admit, if you like, that we owe that to Garnesk.”