The Secret Mark Part 18

The child had taken three books from the shelves. All these she replaced.

She was examining the fourth when Lucile whispered, "That's the one she has come for."

"Why?"

"The light fell full upon the inside of the cover. I saw the gargoyle there."

The prediction proved a true one, for, after carefully closing the case, the child switched off the light.

Scarcely realizing what they were doing, the girls lingered by the door.

Then suddenly Lucile realized their position. "She'll be here in a second," she whispered.

They turned, but not quickly enough, for of a sudden a glare of light from a powerful electric flashlight blinded them while a masculine voice with a distinctly youthful ring to it demanded:

"Who's there?"

To their consternation, the girls felt the child b.u.mp into them as she backed away and there they all stood framed in a circle of light.

The glaring light with darkness behind it made it impossible for them to see the new arrival but Lucile knew instantly from the voice that it was the millionaire's son.

For a full moment no one spoke. The tick-tock of a prodigious clock in one corner of the room sounded out like the ringing of a curfew.

"Oh! I see," came at last in youthful tones from the corner; "just some girls. And pretty ones, too, I'll be bound. Came to borrow a book, did you? Who let you in, I wonder. But never mind. Suppose you're here for a week-end at one of the cottages and needed some reading matter. Rather unconventional way of getting it, but it's all right. Just drop it in the mail box at the gate when you're done with it."

The girls suddenly became conscious of the fact that the child was doing her best to push them out of the door.

Yielding to her backward shoves, they sank away into the shadows and, scarcely believing their senses, found themselves apparently quite free to go their way.

"That," breathed Florence, "was awful decent of him."

"Decent?" Lucile exploded. "It--it was grand. Look here," she turned almost savagely upon the child, "you didn't intend to give that book back but you're going to do it. You're going to put it in that mail box to-night."

"Oh, no, I'm not," the child said cheerfully.

"You--you're not?" Lucile stammered. "What right have you to keep it?"

"What right has he? It does not belong to him. It belongs to Monsieur Le Bon."

"Why, that's nonsense! That--" Lucile broke off suddenly. "Look!" she exclaimed. "The boat's gone!"

It was all too true. They had reached the beach where they had left the boat. It had vanished.

"So we are prisoners after all," Florence whispered.

"And, and he was just making fun of us. He knew we couldn't get away,"

breathed Lucile, sinking hopelessly down upon the sand.

CHAPTER XVII A BATTLE IN THE NIGHT

"Oh, brace up!" exclaimed Florence, a note of impatience creeping into her voice. "We'll get out of this place some way. Perhaps the boat wasn't taken. Perhaps it has--"

She stopped to stare away across the water.

"I believe it's out there away down the beach. Look, Lucile. Look sharp."

The moon had gone behind a small cloud. As it came out they could see clearly the dark bulk of the boat dancing on the water, which was by now roughening up before the rising storm.

"It's out there," exclaimed Florence. "We failed to pull it ash.o.r.e far enough. There is a side sweep to the waves that carried it out. We must get it."

"Yes, oh, yes, we must!" the child exclaimed. "It wasn't mine; it was borrowed."

"You borrow a lot of things," exclaimed Florence.

"Oh, no, indeed. Not many, not hardly any at all."

"But, Florence, how can we get it?" protested Lucile.

"I'm a strong swimmer. I swam a mile once. The boat's out only a few hundred yards. It will be easy."

"Not with your clothes on."

Florence did not answer. She threw a glance toward the millionaire's cottage. All was dark there.

"Here!" Lucile felt a garment thrust into her hands, then another and another.

"Florence, you mustn't."

"It's the only way."

A moment later Florence's white body gleamed in the moonlight as she raced away down the beach to gain the point nearest the boat.

To the listening ears of Lucile and the child there came the sound of a splash, then the slow plash, plash, plash of a swimmer's strokes.

Florence was away and swimming strong. But the wind from off a point had caught the boat and was carrying it out from sh.o.r.e, driving it on faster than she knew.

Confident of her ability to reach the goal in a mere breath of time, she struck out at once with the splendid swing of the Australian crawl.

Trained to the pink of perfection, her every muscle in condition, she laughed at the wavelets that lifted her up only to drop her down again and now and again to dash a saucy handful of spray in her face. She laughed and even hummed a s.n.a.t.c.h of an old sea song. She was as much at home in the water as in her room at the university.

But now, as she got farther from the sh.o.r.e, the waves grew in size and force. They impeded her progress. The sh.o.r.e was protected by a rocky point farther up the beach. She was rapidly leaving that protection.

Throwing herself high out of the water, she looked for the boat. A little cry of consternation escaped her lips. She had expected to find it close at hand. It seemed as far away as when she had first seen it.

"It's the wind off the point," she breathed. "It's taking it out to sea.

It--it's going to be a battle, a real sc.r.a.p."

Once more she struck out with the powerful stroke which carries one far but draws heavily upon his emergency fund of energy.