those murders."

I felt that here, in this lonely cove, we were probably much nearer
the solution of the mystery that had baffled Scarterfield, ourselves,
the police, and everybody that we knew. And so, apparently, did Miss
Raven, who suddenly turned on Baxter with a look that was half an
appeal.

"Mr. Baxter!" she said, colouring a little at her own temerity. "Why
don't you follow Mr. Middlebrook's advice--give up the old silver and
the rest of it to the authorities and help them to track down those
murderers? Wouldn't that be better than--whatever it is that you're
doing?"

But Baxter laughed, flung away his cigar, and rose to his feet.

"A deal better--from many standpoints, my dear young lady!" he
exclaimed. "But too late for Netherfield Baxter. He's an Ishmael!--a
pirate--a highwayman--and it's too late for him to do anything but
gang his own gait. No!--I'm not going to help the police--not I! I've
enough to do to keep out of their way."

"You'll get caught, you know," I said, as good-humouredly as possible.
"You'll never get this stuff that's upstairs across the Atlantic and
into New York or Boston or any Yankee port without detection. As you
are treating us well, your secret's safe enough with us--but think,
man, of the difficulties of taking your loot across an ocean!--to say
nothing of Customs officers on the other side."

"I never said we were going to take it across the Atlantic," he
answered coolly and with another of his cynical laughs. "I said we
were going to sail this bit of a craft across there--so we are. But
when we strike New York or New Orleans or Pernambuco or Buenos Ayres,
Middlebrook, the stuff won't be there--the stuff, my lad, won't leave
British waters! Deep, deep, is your queer acquaintance, Netherfield
Baxter, and if he does run risks now and then, he always provides for
'em."

"Evidently you intend to tranship your precious cargo?" I suggested.

"The door of its market is yawning for it, Middlebrook, and not far
away," he answered. "If this craft drops in at Aberdeen, or at Thurso,
or at Moville, and the Customs folks or any other such-like hawks and
kites come aboard, they'll find nothing but three innocent gentlemen
and their servants a-yachting it across the free seas. _Verbum
sapienti_, Middlebrook, as we said in my Latin days--far off, now!
But--wouldn't Miss Raven like to retire?--it's late. I'll send Chuh
with hot water--if you want anything, Middlebrook, command him. As f