"Do you know, I believe that's
the _Pike!_"
Copplestone gave Audrey's elbow a gentle squeeze.
"Look at old Chatfield!" he whispered. "By gad!--look at him. Yes," he
called out loudly, "We know it's the _Pike_--we saw that from the top of
the cliffs. She's coming straight in."
"Oh, yes, it's the _Pike_," exclaimed Audrey. "Aren't you delighted, Mr.
Chatfield."
The agent suddenly turned his big fat face towards the three young
people, with such an expression of craven fear on it that the sardonic
jest which Copplestone was about to voice died away on his lips.
Chatfield's creased cheeks and heavy jowl had become white as chalk;
great beads of sweat rolled down them; his mouth opened and shut
silently, and suddenly, as he raised his hands and wrung them, his knees
began to quiver. It was evident that the man was badly, terribly
afraid--and as they watched him in amazed wonder his eyes began to
search the shore and the cliffs as if he were some hunted animal seeking
any hole or cranny in which to hide. A sudden swelling of the light wind
brought the steady throb of the oncoming engines to his ears and he
turned on Vickers with a look that made the onlookers start.
"For goodness sake, Mr. Vickers!" he said in a queer, strained voice.
"For heaven's sake, let's get ourselves away! Mr. Vickers--it ain't safe
for none of us. We'd best to run, sir--let's get to the other side of the
island.
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