Anne answered this time:

“Yes, they were more fortunate than we are.”

Mrs. Cornell, her sobs under control, spoke up:

“But even if we were here they can’t suspect us. We’ve got alibis, we’re all accounted for. We were all in——”

She realized where she was going and stopped. There was a portentous silence. Shine almost shouted, pointing out at the channel:

“The tide’s falling fast. They can’t get into the dock here. How will they make a landing?”

Bassett answered:

“In a cove at the upper end of the island. They’ve a dock there for low water. They have to make a detour, that’s all.”

Flora, who had been sitting with her hand over her eyes, dropped it and sat erect. Her breath came from her in a loud exhalation that was almost a groan. Every pair of eyes shifted to her, watchful, questioning, apprehensive.

“Do you feel ill, Flora?” said Bassett, moving to her side.

[Pg 112]

[Pg 112]

“No—no,” she looked wildly about. “But this waiting—it’s so awful.”

Miss Pinkney suggested a glass of water, but Flora waved a hand as if pushing it away. Stokes rose and moved to a seat beside her.

“They’ll be here soon now.”

She sank back and closed her eyes. Her husband bent a somber, sidewise look toward her, then laid his hand on one of hers. Her own turned and the thin fingers twined like clinging roots about his.

“It won’t be hard,” he reassured. “Just give them a clear account of what you saw.”

She waved the other hand in front of her face, like a person in unendurable pain, who makes a vague distracted gesture for silence.

Anne spoke from the door:

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