in it was in a note of
decision.

"No, I don't think that's it at all," she said emphatically. "They're
dependent on wind and weather, and the seas aren't so wide, but that
they'd be caught on our information. I'm sure that isn't it."

"What is it, then?" I asked.

"I've a sort of vague, misty idea," she answered, with a laugh that
was plainly intended to be deprecatory of her own power. "Supposing
these Chinese--you say they're awfully keen and astute--supposing
they've got a plot amongst themselves for handing Baxter and the
Frenchman over to the police--the authorities--with their plunder? Do
you see?"

I had just finished the manufacture of my novel foot-wear, and I
jumped to my padded feet with an exclamation that--this time--did not
come from unpleasant contact with the sharp stones.

"By George!" I said. "There is an idea in that!--there may be
something in it!"

"We thought Wing was on board," she continued. "If so, I think I may
be right in offering such a suggestion. Supposing that Wing came
across these people when he went to London; took service with them in
the hope of getting at their secret; supposing he's induced the other
Chinese to secure Baxter and the Frenchman--that, in short, he's been
playing the part of detective? Wouldn't that explain why they sent us
away?"

"Partly--yes, perhaps wholly," I said, struggling with this new idea.
"But--where and when and how do they intend--if your theory's
correct--to do the handing over?"

"That's surely easy enough," she replied quickly. "There's nothing to
do but sail the yawl into say Berwick harbour and call the police
aboard. A very, very easy matter!"

"I wonder if it is so?" I answered, musingly. "It might be--but if we
stay here until it's light and the tide's up, we shall see which way
the yawl goes."

"It's high water between five and six o'clock," she remarked. "Anyway,
it was between four and five yesterday morning at Ravensdene
Court--which now seems to be far away, in some other world."

"Hungry?" I asked.

"Not a bit," she answered. "But--it's a long way since yesterday
afternoon. We've seen things."

"We've certainly seen Mr. Netherfield Baxter," I observed.

"A fascinating man!" she said, with a laugh. "The sort of man--under
other circumstances--one would like to have to dinner."

"Um!" said I. "A ready and plausible tongue, to be sure. I dare say
there are women who would fall in love with such a man."

"Lots!" she answe