at him from the
poop.

Carter went up the steps and without pausing informed him of what had
happened.

"Mrs. Travers told me to go to you at once. She's very upset as you may
guess," he drawled, looking Lingard hard in the face. Lingard knitted
his eyebrows. "The hands, too, are scared," Carter went on. "They fancy
the savages, or whatever they may be who stole the owner, are going to
board the yacht every minute. I don't think so myself but--"

"Quite right--most unlikely," muttered Lingard.

"Aye, I daresay you know all about it," continued Carter, coolly, "the
men are startled and no mistake, but I can't blame them very much. There
isn't enough even of carving knives aboard to go round. One old signal
gun! A poor show for better men than they."

"There's no mistake I suppose about this affair?" asked Lingard.

"Well, unless the gentlemen are having a lark with us at hide and seek.
The man says he waited ten minutes at the point, then pulled slowly
along the bank looking out, expecting to see them walking back. He
made the trunk of a tree apparently stranded on the sand and as he was
sculling past he says a man jumped up from behind that log, flung a
stick at him and went off running. He backed water at once and began to
shout, 'Are you there, sir?' No one answered. He could hear the bushes
rustle and some strange noises like whisperings. It was very dark. After
calling out several times, and waiting on his oars, he got frightened
and pulled back to the yacht. That is clear enough. The only doubt in
my mind is if they are alive or not. I didn't let on to Mrs. Travers.
That's a kind of thing you keep to yourself, of course."

"I don't think they are dead," said Lingard, slowly, and as if thinking
of something else.

"Oh! If you say so it's all right," said Carter with deliberation.

"What?" asked Lingard, absently; "fling a stick, did they? Fling a
spear!"

"That's it!" assented Carter, "but I didn't say anything. I only
wondered if the same kind of stick hadn't been flung at the owner,
that's all. But I suppose you know your business best, Captain."

Lingard, grasping his whole beard, reflected profoundly, erect and with
bowed head in the glare of the flares.

"I suppose you think it's my doing?" he asked, sharply, without looking
up.

Carter surveyed him with a candidly curious gaze. "Well, Captain, Mrs.
Travers did let on a bit to me about our chief-officer's boat. You've
stopped it, haven't you? H