The news of Lady Harte's spectacular arrival at Cliff House reached the offices of Kane and Mansell within two hours of her taxi's return to Portlaw. The taxi driver described it, with humorous embellishments, to a man selling newspapers, who passed it on in due course to a junior clerk, who retailed it to his senior, who thought proper to mention it to Joe Mansell. Joe, surprised, told his son over the lunch table. Paul Mansell, stirring his coffee, said reflectively: "Oh!— That's funny. Dam' funny."
Joe cast a quick look at him and then averted his eyes. "She's a very unaccountable woman, Norma Harte—very. Of course, she may have heard of Silas' death."
"Wonder if she had anything to do with Clement's death?" said Paul. "Violent sort of female, what?"
Joe stirred restlessly in his chair. "Really, my boy, really!"
"Well, I don't know," pursued Paul, watching his parent's discomfort with rather a mocking expression in his eyes. "Seems to me she might well be the guilty party. Rather a good shot, isn't she?"
Joe set his coffee cup down. "Now, look here, Paul!" he said in an angry undertone; "I'll tell you something! You make a great mistake to talk like that—a very great mistake! There's nothing looks worse than trying to cast the blame onto someone else!"
"Someone else?" repeated Paul lifting his brows.
"Well, you know what I mean! The less you say, the better. This is a very nasty business. I—upon my soul, it's taken years off my life! I've never been through such a fortnight, never!"
Paul leaned back in his chair, smiling and keeping his eyes, under their drooping lids, fixed maliciously on his father's face. "I do believe you think I killed Clement!" he said softly.
"You know very well I think nothing of the sort! I wish you wouldn't talk in that silly way. It's folly, rank folly! Of course, I know you wouldn't dream—good God, the very idea is preposterous! There's no need to discuss it. All I mean is that most unfortunately you've no alibi—that is, you can't prove an alibi—for the time of poor Clement's death. The police are bound to be suspicious of you. Well, they are suspicious: no use blinking facts."
"I'm not afraid. It's you who seem to have got cold feet. The police can't prove a thing against me. You needn't worry, Dad."
"I am worrying!" Joe said with suppressed violence. "You don't seem to realise what a ghastly business this is. Silas and Clement both gone within a fortnight."
Paul shrugged nonchalantly, took out his thin gold cigarette case, and opened it. "Speaking for myself, I don't look on their deaths as much loss," he drawled.
For a moment Joe did not answer. Then he said in a low voice: "Sometimes, Paul, you seem to me to be utterly callous! How you can sit there and say such a thing of two men you've known from the day you were born—"
"Oh Lord, don't pull out the pathetic stop, Dad!" Paul interrupted. "You know dam' well you agree with me."
"I deny that—I utterly deny that! I had the greatest regard for them. Silas was my oldest friend. Don't you dare say such a thing again! It's—it's an impertinence! A gross untruth!"
"Oh, all right!" replied Paul. "Sorry I spoke!" He tapped a cigarette on his case and put it between his lips. "I suppose you're only too glad to have young Jim Kane all ready to step into Clement's shoes."
"I've nothing against Jim, nothing at all!" Joe said. "He's a very nice boy; but of course as for his knowing anything about the business—well, that's absurd, and he'll be the first to realise it. If he likes to learn it, I shall be only too glad to help him and teach him the ins and outs of it. I don't anticipate that he'll be anything more than a sleeping partner, actually, but—"
"Oh, don't you!" Paul struck in. "You wait till you see his highness! It won't be long before there'll be nothing he won't know about the business."
"I know Jim Kane, thanks. I've no doubt you handled him badly. Got his back up. I never wanted you to tackle him. I was against it from the start. I'll have a talk with him myself when I think fit."
"And I'll bet you'll find I'm right," said Paul. "He's going to be a dam' nuisance to us. He's showing his teeth already, and, if I know these Kanes, that's nothing to what he'll be like once he's found his feet. It'll be Silas over again. Pig-headed, stick-in-the-mud—"
"That'll do, my boy, that'll do! You're talking very indiscreetly. There's nothing wrong with Jim. I dare say he wouldn't listen to you, but he'll listen to me, you'll see."
"I hope he shall," said Paul, getting up. "Meanwhile, how much longer do you expect Roberts to hang about?"
"Roberts quite understands how we're placed. He's being most reasonable, really most accommodating!"
"It strikes me he's being a dam' sight too accommodating," said Paul. "I'd like to know just what he's playing at, telling Jim Kane not to let himself be rushed into the deal!"
Joe looked at him narrowly. "What's this? How do you know that? Who told you?"
"Roberts himself. Came lounging into my office this morning and had the nerve to tell me, in front of Jenkins and Miss Clarke, that I was making a great mistake to press Kane, and that he'd like me to know he'd told him not to let himself be hustled. Darned cheek, I call it."
"He said that, did he?" Joe stared up at his son frowningly. "Roberts thinks Silas was murdered, Paul."
"He thinks too much. What's it got to do with him, anyway? Anyone would think he was investigating the crime instead of that beefy superintendent."
Joe said, moistening his lips, "I suppose he's interested. He was first on the scene, wasn't he?" He hesitated, and moved a fork on the table, and studied it. "I wonder whether he saw anything—anything that might give him an inkling—"
"Of course not!"
"How do you know?" Joe said, glancing up momentarily.
"Good Lord, if he'd seen anything, he'd have told the police! What would be the point of keeping it back?"
"I don't know. He's a queer chap. Never can make him out, quite."
"Well, I wish he'd stop poking his long nose into what doesn't concern him!" said Paul sharply. "I'm all for doing a deal with his firm, but I'm about fed up with having him cropping up at every turn! I suppose you mean he thinks I killed Clement. He can think what he likes, but I can tell you this much! It'll take a cleverer man than Friend Roberts to bring Clement's death home to me!"
"Gently, gently!" Joe said, looking round apprehensively. "Don't forget you're in a public restaurant, my boy!"
"I don't forget it, and I don't care who hears what I say!" retorted Paul.
Joe rose and picked up his hat. "You've let this appalling affair get on your nerves. Much wiser to say as little as possible. Are you coming straight back to the office?"
"No, I'm going down to the harbour to see Fenwick about that last consignment," snapped Paul.
"Oh yes! Quite right, my boy: a breath of fresh air will do you good. Blow away the cobwebs, eh?"
Paul deigned no reply to this but walked out of the restaurant to where he had parked his car and, getting into it, drove off in the direction of the old town.
He found his quarry in conversation with a couple of old salts at the end of the stone jetty. Some fishing smacks, with sails furled, lay at anchor in the harbour, with kittiwakes and herring gulls wheeling and circling above them; and a quantity of lobster pots decorated the jetty. A small tramp steamer and some rowing– and motor-boats, dipping and rising with the slight swell, were the only other craft visible.
Paul Mansell, concluding his business with Mr. Thomas Fenwick, lingered for a few moments, watching a kittiwake swoop down to the water and rise again. A drawling voice spoke at his elbow. "A fine day, Mansell."
Paul turned, a spasm of annoyance contracting his features. "Oh—good afternoon! I didn't see you."
"I often take a stroll down this way," said Oscar Roberts, leaning his elbows on the low stone wall before them and gazing out across the wide bay. "Kind of peaceful. Say, you don't have much shipping here, do you?"
"No, very little nowadays. You won't find much use for those things," replied Paul, indicating with a faintly contemptuous smile the field glasses which hung round Roberts' neck.
"You never know," said Roberts. "I get a kick out of watching the gulls. Wonderful things, aren't they? Ever watched them through glasses?"
"No, I can't say I have. Not much in my line." He paused and added with an attempt at cordiality: "About that deal, Roberts; I've just been having a talk with my father. He is confident he can handle Kane."
Roberts had raised his field glasses and focussed them on the opposite headland, some two miles across the bay. "If you'll pardon me, I wouldn't advise you to handle Mr. James Kane too much. I've a notion it won't pay."
Paul's face darkened. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.
Roberts still kept his glasses trained on the opposite headland. "Oh, just one of my hunches!" he said amiably. "I'd leave that young man alone, if I were you."
His glasses raked the white cliff gleaming on the other side of the bay. "Seems extraordinary what you can pick out with these things, doesn't it? I can see the whole line of the cliff path over yonder, and the very spot where old Mr. Kane went over the edge." He lowered the glasses and turned to Paul. "Like to take a look?"
"No!" Paul said angrily.
Oscar Roberts regarded him with a faint smile. "Say, is anything wrong? You sound kind of put out."
Paul met his look and held it. "Not in the least. What should be wrong?"
He took the glasses which Robert was still holding out to him and focussed them on the headland. "Yes, a very fine pair," he said in his normal voice. "I see Kane's speedboat's tied up to the landing stage under the cliff. Do you know if he's entering for the race next week?"
"So I believe," answered Roberts. "Why?"
"Oh, no reason! Seems a bit callous, considering everything. Hullo, someone's going out in the boat!"
"That'll be Kane himself, trying her out, I fancy. We'll have a look at his form."
"I'm afraid I've got something better to do than waste my time watching Kane handle a speedboat," replied Paul, giving back the glasses.
Roberts took the glasses and looked through them. He said suddenly: "That's not Kane! That's the boy!"
Paul Mansell was preparing to walk away, but he stopped. "Timothy? I say, isn't that a bit dangerous?"
"I'll say it is! The durned little fool!"
Paul said uneasily: "You know the current's very strong here. I don't believe that kid's got any right to take Kane's boat out. Do you think we ought to do something? I mean—"
"Sure I think we ought!" Roberts said briskly. "Can you drive one of these things?" He pointed at a small motorboat tied up alongside the jetty.
"Well, no, I can't say I ever have, but I dare say—"
"Hold these glasses, then. Guess I can manage," Roberts said, and, thrusting the glasses into Paul's hands, ran towards the boat, and lowered himself into it. After a quick inspection he lifted his head and shouted: "By the Lord's mercy she's full up!" and cast off.
Paul saw him thread his way between the fishing-smacks to the mouth of the harbour and went back to watch the speedboat's progress.
Timothy was heading across the bay towards the harbour, steadily gaining speed. Through the glasses Paul could see the froth of foam about the Seamew 's lifting bows and just the top of Timothy's head as he crouched over the wheel. The roar of the engine sounded across the water; Paul guessed Timothy to have opened the throttle to the full and bit his lip.
Nearer at hand Roberts' borrowed motorboat chugged to meet the Seamew .
Mr. Fenwick came along the jetty and said: "What's up, Mr. Mansell? Who's that gone off with Bob Aiken's boat?"
"It's that blasted kid from Cliff House, monkeying about with Mr. Jim Kane's Seamew! " Paul replied. "He'll capsize her for a certainty!"
Mr. Fenwick smiled indulgently. "What, Mr. Timothy? He's all right, Mr. Mansell. He won't do no harm. He's more like a fish than a boy, he is."
"He's got no right to be in that boat. Anything might happen!"
"Oh, you don't need to worry your head over him, Mr. Mansell! The way I always look at it is this: boys—" He stopped short, staring across the bay. "Hullo, what's up with her?"
The Seamew , which had been skimming across the water on a straight course for Portlaw, seemed to be losing speed. Paul rested his elbows on the wall to keep the glasses steady and said in a voice sharpened with apprehension: "She's keeling over . . . her bows are right out of the— Good God, she's gone down!"
"Lord-love-a-duck, what's he done to her?" exclaimed Mr. Fenwick. "Can you see him, Mr. Mansell? Is he all right?"
"I can't make out. There isn't a sign—yes, there he is! He's all right, if he can hold out till Roberts reaches him."
"He'll do that easy enough," said Mr. Fenwick, shading his eyes under one horny hand. "It beats me how he come to lose her like that. Wasn't turning, was he?"
"I couldn't see. She just seemed to disappear. He's making no headway against the current. What the devil possessed the little fool to do it?"
"Ah, now you're asking!" said Mr. Fenwick, his calm gaze upon the motorboat forging steadily through the water. "That's a boy all over. Proper varmints they are. How's he doing?"
"He's still there. He's seen Roberts, I think— Yes, it's all right: Roberts has reached him. Gosh!" He lowered the glasses and wiped his forehead. "Bloody little fool!" he said angrily. "I hope he gets it hot!"
Out in the middle of the bay Oscar Roberts, having hauled an exhausted boy into the motorboat, was saying very much the same thing. Timothy lay on the floor of the boat gasping for breath and spitting salt water. Roberts said: "Guess there's a mighty big kick in the pants coming to you, son," and opened the throttle again, steering, not for Portlaw, but for the landing stage on the farther side of the bay, under Cliff House.
Mr. Harte was quite unable to speak for a minute or two, but as soon as he was able to catch his breath he jerked out: "She simply sank! I didn't do a thing!"
Roberts smiled a little and said: "Don't waste that one on me. You keep it for that stepbrother of yours."
"But I didn't!" Timothy asseverated, sitting up. "She was going perfectly!"
"Maybe you struck a rock, then."
"I did not!" Timothy said indignantly. "Good Lord, I should know if I'd hit anything!"
"You should," agreed Roberts somewhat dryly. "But a boat doesn't sink for no reason, sonny, does it?"
"Of course not; but I swear it wasn't anything I did! Oh, I say, I forgot! Thanks awfully for pulling me out. There's a most frightful current. I couldn't make any headway against it." He added gruffly: "As a matter of fact, I expect I'd have been drowned if you hadn't come along. Thanks awfully, sir!"
"That all right. It's just lucky I happened to be around. How are you feeling?"
"Oh, I'm O.K.! But I don't understand about the Seamew . Honestly, I do know how to handle her! Well, you saw I could, didn't you?"
Roberts laughed. "I can't exactly say that, son. It didn't look too good to me, which is why I'm here now. Maybe you'd best be half-drowned for a while: your stepbrother's on the landing stage."
Timothy glanced towards the shore. "Well, I don't care. There was something wrong with the boat: one minute she was all right, and the next—I don't know: I think the bottom was ripped off her. She—she just filled with water. But I swear she never hit anything!"
"The fact of the matter is," said Roberts, putting the engine astern as they drew near to the landing stage, "speedboats weren't meant to be handled by schoolboys."
They came gently up to the landing stage, where an extremely wrathful young man awaited them. "What the hell?—" exploded Mr. James Kane.
His saturated relative clambered out of the boat and said unhappily: "I'm frightfully sorry, Jim; but, honestly, it wasn't my fault!"
"Where's the Seamew? " demanded Jim.
"Well, she—she sort of sank," said Mr. Harte more unhappily than ever. "But—"
Jim interrupted him without ceremony. He spoke with admirable fluency for two blistering minutes. Mr. Harte wilted perceptibly and gave several watery sniffs.
Roberts, having tied up the boat, stepped out of it and suggested mildly that Timothy had better go and change his wet clothes. Jim, though expressing a savage hope that Timothy would contract pneumonia and die of it, agreed and told him to get out before he was kicked out. Timothy fled.
Jim turned to Roberts. He still looked very angry, but the alarming note left his voice. "What happened, sir?"
"That's more than I can tell you," replied Roberts. "I was on the end of the jetty yonder, with young Mansell, when we saw the kid get into the Seamew and cast off. Watched him through my field glasses, which, now I come to think of it, I told Mansell to hold for me. It didn't seem to me he was handling the boat any too well, so to be on the safe side I set out to meet him. What he did to the Seamew I can't make out, but she went down within about thirty seconds of my first seeing her lose speed. It looked to me as though he must have hit something and torn the bottom out of her."
Jim said, frowning: "Damned little ass! He ought to know the bay well enough by now! He must have been steering an idiotic course if he hit the rocks!"
"Maybe he had his hands too full to think much about his course," said Roberts, smiling a little. "He's not precisely in the habit of taking speedboats out, is he?"
"No, certainly not. He did it to get back on me for not taking him this morning. I'll teach him!"
"Guess he's had a bit of a fright already, Kane. There's an almighty strong current out there."
Jim gave a reluctant grin. "It would take more than that to put the wind up Timothy, sir. By the way, thanks very much for going to the rescue. You must come up and meet my mother. She arrived quite unexpectedly this morning."
"Is that so? I'd like to meet her very much; but I think I ought to take the boat back. Maybe the owner will be looking for it."
"Mansell's sure to explain. Come on up to the house and have a drink," said Jim, leading the way to the path that zigzagged up the cliff-face. He glanced back, grimacing. "You can imagine my feelings when I heard the Seamew start up! I was on the terrace at the time. I guessed it was that devilish brat, of course. The worst of it is, my mother will probably be rather bucked about it, so Timothy will get the idea he's done something fairly clever."
Lady Harte, still wearing the crumpled tweed coat and skirt, met them as they came across the lawn at the top of the cliff. She shook Oscar Roberts warmly by the hand and said that it was very decent of him to have pulled Timothy out of the water. "Not but what he's a good swimmer for his age," she added. "However, he tells me the current was a bit too much for him, so I'm very grateful to you. Darling, I'm so sorry about the Seamew , but you can buy another, can't you?"
"Yes, but for God's sake don't let Timothy think he's a hero, Mother! He deserves to be flayed."
"No, I can't agree with you there, Jim," she said decidedly. "Of course he'd no business to take your boat out—I grant that—but you must admit it showed an adventurous spirit." She turned to Roberts. "I hate milksops, don't you?"
He agreed smilingly, but Jim groaned. "I knew it!" he said. "You're rather pleased Mother!"
"Well, I admit I didn't think he had as much enterprise. However, he's very upset at having lost your boat, so don't be unkind to him, darling. After all, it might just as well have happened to you. Timothy says there was something wrong with the boat."
"There was nothing wrong with her whatsoever!" said Jim. "What that loathsome whelp of yours did was to run her over the Pin rocks."
They had by this time reached the terrace. Rosemary was seated there, becomingly dressed in floating black draperies. While Jim went into the house to fetch a cooling drink for his stepbrother's preserver, she informed Lady Harte and Oscar Roberts that she had had a premonition that something dreadful was going to happen, and added, somewhat unwisely, that, fond as she was of Timothy, she could not help seeing that he was getting very out of hand. This led, not unnaturally, to a spirited defence of her son by Norma, and Jim, returning with beer and glasses, found both ladies engaged in a highly acrimonious argument. Though considerably annoyed with Timothy, he felt impelled to defend him against Rosemary's attack, with the result that Rosemary, looking offended, withdrew into the house, saying that no one seemed to have the least consideration for her.
"That young woman," said Lady Harte, accepting a glass of beer from her son, "badly wants an Object in life."
"She's got one. You wait till you see him," said Jim involuntarily. Recollecting the presence of a stranger, he added hastily: "Beer or a gimlet, Roberts?"
"I'll have beer, thanks. But don't mind me," replied Roberts, twinkling. "I've seen him too."
Jim laughed. "Awfully Nordic, isn't he? He's bunked to town, I understand. My own feeling is that he's too Nordic to be a murderer. Hullo, Adrian! Have some beer?"
Sir Adrian, who had come out on to the terrace from the drawing room, declined this offer but desired his stepson to tell him what had been happening. He appeared to be quite unmoved at the thought of the danger Timothy had been in, merely remarking that he hoped Jim did not expect him to enact the role of avenging parent.
Timothy presently joined the party on the terrace, chastened but anxious to justify himself. Failing, however, to induce Oscar Roberts to support his statement that he had been steering a course well outside the line of Pin rocks, or to win from his stepbrother any sign of belief in his story or forgiveness for his crime, he went away to nurse his sorrows in solitude.
He bore himself with unaccustomed lowliness throughout the rest of the day and retired early to bed.
He bade Jim good-night in a painstakingly offhand voice, received in reply the curtest of valedictions, and flushed to the ears. This quite melted Miss Allison's heart, and she presently slipped out of the drawing room and went upstairs to tap on his door. After a slight pause she was told gruffly to come in and entered to find Timothy reading in bed. He lowered his book and said in a goaded voice: "What is it?"
Miss Allison went to sit on the edge of the bed. "I know you're sick to death of the whole subject," she said; "but do you mind telling me just what happened?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I did," he replied bitterly.
"Well, you might give me a chance, anyway."
"I don't care whether anyone believes me or not!" said Timothy.
Miss Allison removed the book from his grasp. "Come off the roof! You know as well as Jim does where the rocks are. If you say you were beyond them, I believe you."
"Well, I was."
"Cross your heart, Timothy?"
"Yes, I swear I was. Besides, if I'd hit anything, I'd have felt it."
"And absolutely between ourselves, you didn't muck something up in the engine?"
"'Course not. She wouldn't have sunk if I had."
Miss Allison twined her fingers together and said: "Timothy, what do you think was wrong?"
Something in her voice made him look at her sharply. "I don't know."
"Just exactly what happened?"
"Well, nothing at first. She was running perfectly. I opened her up awfully gradually too. As a matter of fact, I didn't mean to take her at full speed at all, but she was going so well, and it was such a grand day for it, that I simply couldn't help letting her out. I was steering an absolutely straight course, and the engine was running as sweetly as anything, when suddenly I felt her check a bit, and then I saw the water rising up in the boat, and she, heeled right over. It happened so quickly I don't really know what did happen, except that I was chucked clean out of the boat. I can tell you, it was a pretty ghastly feeling."
"It must have been awful!" Miss Allison said, her face quite pale.
"Well, it was, because for one thing it took me completely by surprise, and for another the current got me. Gosh, I was glad to see that motorboat chugging along!"
"If Mr. Roberts hadn't been there you'd have been drowned."
"I expect I should, really."
Her fingers gripped together in her lap. "It might have been Jim."
"Yes, I know; that's what I keep on telling him, but he doesn't believe a word I say. He thinks I capsized the rotten boat or ran her on the rocks. But he knows I can handle her, because he's often let me when I've been out with him. I'm frightfully sorry I took her out and—and lost her, but it's no use going on saying it. He simply doesn't listen. He said—" Timothy's voice shook suddenly. He found himself quite unable to repeat what Jim had said, and instead announced that he was tired and wished to be left alone.
Miss Allison got up. "Don't go to sleep yet. I'm going to fetch Jim."
Mr. Harte sat up with a jerk. "You jolly well aren't! I don't want to see him!"
"I don't care a damn what you want. I mean to get to the bottom of this."
"I'll lock my door! It doesn't matter a hoot to me what Jim says or thinks, and if you make him come here, I won't ever speak to you again as long as I live!" declared Mr. Harte, anguished.
"Don't be an idiot! Can't you see that this may be important?" said Patricia fiercely. "If you didn't run her on the rocks, why did she sink?"
Timothy stared at her. "Do you mean, she was tampered with?" he demanded. "But—but—why?"
"To get rid of Jim," said Patricia, but in a low voice, as though she were afraid of her own words.
"Gosh!" ejaculated Timothy, round-eyed.
She left the room and went downstairs to find Jim.
He was just coming out of the drawing room as she reached the hall, and said: "Oh, there you are! I was coming to look for you. Do you feel like going out?"
"No, not a bit. I want you to come up to Timothy's room, if you don't mind."
"But I do mind. I haven't the least desire to see Timothy, and I have got a most burning desire to have you to myself for a bit."
"Don't be vindictive, Jim. It's mean."
"I'm not. I haven't done a thing to him."
"Yes, you are. You know perfectly well he thinks the world of you. I think he's rather upset by what you said to him. So do make it up with him. Besides, I want you to listen to his story carefully, because I think he's speaking the truth. Do come, Jim!"
"All right, but why have I got to listen to his story all over again?" he asked, allowing himself to be led upstairs.
"Never mind. I'll tell you why when you're heard it. You haven't really listened to him yet, you know."
Timothy was still sitting up in bed when they reached his room. His manner towards his stepbrother would not have led the uninitiated to suspect that he desired a reconciliation. He said: "You needn't think I wanted her to fetch you, because I didn't. I've told you I was sorry about half a million times already, and if you don't want to listen, you jolly well needn't!"
"If you give me any lip I'll wring your neck," said Jim. "You meddlesome, cocksure little beast."
Mr. Harte's countenance lightened at this form of address. "Oh, Jim, honestly I'm most frightfully sorry about it!" he said thickly.
"All right, put a sock in it. Pat says I've got to listen to your utterly unconvincing narrative," replied Jim, sitting down on the side of the bed.
"Well, I wish you would," said Timothy; "because when Mr. Roberts says I ran on the rocks, he simply doesn't know what he's talking about! I didn't."
"What did you do, then?"
"Tell him exactly what you told me, Timothy!" commanded Miss Allison. "And do listen with an open mind, Jim! It's important."
"I can't for the life of me see why, but carry on!" said Jim.
Timothy drew his knees up, and hugged them, and repeated the story he had told Miss Allison. Jim heard him out in silence but at the end said: "Look here, my child, you may think you didn't hit anything, but a boat doesn't go down in thirty seconds for no reason. You must obviously have ripped one of the bottom strokes clean off her. I don't say you crashed bang into a rock, but, according to you, you were going all-out. At that speed it would be enough if you merely grazed a rock."
"Jim, if I'd done that, wouldn't I have felt it?"
"I should have thought so. Never having piled her up myself I can't say for certain."
"Give me a piece of paper and a pencil!" ordered Timothy. "I'll draw you a diagram."
"What on earth does it matter? The thing's done now. Forget it!"
"No, let him show you!" said Patricia.
Jim sighed, and produced a pencil from his pocket, and handed it over. Timothy directed Miss Allison to give him the notebook that lay on his dressing table, licked the pencil, and began to sketch. "Well, that's the bay, roughly. Here is Portlaw, and here is the landing stage below our cliff. Now the Pin rocks run like this, don't they?"
"More or less," agreed Jim, watching the pencil's progress.
"Right!" Well, this is the course I steered. If anything, I was drawing away from the rocks. It must have been just about here that the Seamew went down. Anyway, I'll swear it wasn't within a quarter of a mile of the rocks. Now what about it?"
Jim shook his head. "It's beyond me. Without wishing to be offensive, I should imagine that, while that was the course you meant to steer, you actually were much nearer the shore."
"Oh gosh!" said Timothy, disgusted. "You must think I'm a pretty average ass!"
"I do," replied Jim promptly.
"When you let me handle the Seamew before, did I do all right or not?"
"You did. But I was with you."
"Look here!" interposed Patricia; "will you for the sake of argument assume that Timothy's right, and he wasn't near the rocks?"
"Certainly ma'am! So what?"
"He couldn't have sunk the boat like that through doing something wrong with the engine, could he?"
"No."
"Could one of the bottom boards—or whatever you call them—have been loose from the start?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. Didn't we have her out this morning?"
"Well, are you sure you didn't graze her on something?"
"God give me strength!" gasped Jim. "Talk about adding insult to injury! Are you two beauties trying to make out I sank the boat?"
"No, but are you sure?"
"I am!" said Jim emphatically.
"Then if Timothy didn't run her on the rocks, and there was nothing wrong with her this morning, why did she sink?" demanded Patricia.
"She didn't. What I mean is, she wouldn't have if—" He stepped and glanced quickly from Patricia's face to Timothy's "Good Lord! You don't think someone tampered with her, do you?" he exclaimed.
"Yes," replied Patricia. "I do."