As in a daze¹, Tom Dennis listened while Pontifex went on to explain that Miles Hathaway alone knew where the Simpson lay; that thus far they had been unable to find a way to extract that knowledge from Hathaway—just here the skipper's voice was very silky—and that they counted upon Florence to hit upon some method of communication.  
But, the skipper hastened on, this was not the real reason for Florence's having been fetched in person. She was the legal heir of Hathaway, and also his guardian², under the present conditions.
 
"Of course," said Pontifex blandly³, "we might have gone ahead and you would never have known about it; but we don't do business that way, Mrs. Dennis. We want to be aboveboard and honourable⁴ in the matter. We dared not thresh the thing out there in the harbour, for you've no idea how curious shipping⁵ people are! A breath of suspicion as to our real business, and we'd have been lost. So we simply ran away with you—not a bad joke, eh? Ran away with you to make your fortune!
 
"Well, to business. Our proposition is that you sign articles with us—Mr. Dennis also, since he is your husband and we want everything shipshape—and we'll land you at Unalaska, there to wait until we've turned the trick. Of course, you realize that we're giving our time, the wages of the men, the ship, and all the rest, to the venture. We've talked over what's fair, and we think that the right thing to do is to offer you twenty per centum of the gross proceeds of the salvage⁶. Is that agreeable?"
 
Florence, her wide brown eyes fastened upon Tom Dennis, seemed to await his decision in breathless eagerness. He nodded, without speaking.
 
Captain Pontifex produced a paper which must have been long prepared, for it was typed, and handed it to Dennis. The latter glanced it over. The writing was no more than an agreement to the terms as Pontifex had outlined them: Dennis passed the paper to Florence.
 
"Pontifex," he said slowly, "you're white in this thing! I tell you we appreciate it. Yes, I can understand a good many things now that weren't clear to me before. Your offer is generous. It's eminently⁷ square. We're not rich, and if this thing goes through it'll mean a great deal to us—and to the future comfort of Captain Hathaway."
 
Florence hastily signing the paper with the fountain pen which the skipper had handed her, shoved pen and paper at Dennis, then leaped to her feet. An excited smile upon her lips, her great brown eyes glowing with life and eagerness, she insisted on shaking hands with everyone at the table. Her slender frame seemed filled with a sudden flame of vitality⁸.
 
"You've made me so happy!" she cried, speaking then to Pontifex. "Not the money, not alone what it will mean to us all—but your goodness! All of you! Oh, if father could only tell you how he must feel about it——"
 
She flung her arms around Mrs. Pontifex and kissed that lady heartily⁹.
 
Up the craggy countenance¹⁰ of the Missus welled a slow tide of crimson¹¹, which swiftly waned¹² again. Corny looked at Boatswain Joe and grinned. The deep-set, cavernous eyes of Captain Pontifex sought the impassively watching face of Miles Hathaway—sought it with a satiric¹³ gleam in their dark depths. Then they returned to the girl.
 
"Duty is duty," he said unctuously¹⁴. "We've tried to do what's right, madam. The consciousness of having done right is a great stay in time of trouble. We——"
 
The words were cut short by an appalling¹⁵ scream which seemed to wail¹⁶ out of the air overhead, At that scream a silence like death fell upon the cabin.
 
Corny furtively¹⁷ crossed himself. Mr. Leman's flat ugly face turned quite white. Ericksen flung back his chair and was gone with a rush. Captain Pontifex leaped to his feet and followed Boatswain Joe to the companion. As he set foot on the ladder, the others crowding at his heels, the brig heeled over amid a confused trampling¹⁸ and shouting from above. Florence cried out in fear.
 
 
 
Manuel Mendez was helping¹⁹ a Kanaka at the wheel, jamming it hard down, bringing the brig slowly about; he was bawling²⁰ orders, while all hands were trimming sail.
 
"One o' dem lubbers fell off de royal yard!" bellowed²¹ Mendez at the skipper. He did not think it necessary to explain that, as a good joke, he had sent one of the drink-dazed white hands up to the royal, grinning delightedly as the poor devil shivered and clung in fright above the swimming waste of water. But another of the white men forward had seen.
 
"It was him done it!" yelled the man angrily, pointing at Mendez. "He shifted the helm to——"
 
Boatswain Joe's fist stopped the utterance²², sent the man rolling into the scuppers.
 
"Get out that for'ard boat, Bo'sun!" shouted Captain Pontifex, his voice piercing the wind as steel pierces paper. "Lively, now—lively!"
 
Tom Dennis stood at the top of the companionway, his arm about Florence. Beside him stood the Missus, rocklike and silent. Dennis had caught those words from forward, and seen Ericksen's blow; he stood grimly watching, his lips compressed.
 
Mr. Leman, with uncanny swiftness, joined Boatswain Joe at the forward whaleboat. It was quickly swung out and lowered, the Kanakas tumbling into it, Leman and Ericksen following. Behind, somewhere in the tossing sea crests²³, was the black dot of a man's head. Before the boat was half-way to it, the head had vanished. The man was gone.
 
"Be a little more careful with those men, Mr. Mendez," said Pontifex, watching the whaleboat put about and return. "We'll need 'em."
 
That was all. No anger, no inquiry²⁴, no more concern over the death of a man—the needless brutal²⁵ murder of a man—than if that man had been a wandering sea-gull. Tom Dennis drew Florence below, hoping that she had not understood. But when he looked into her eyes, he knew that she had understood.
 
"Tom, I—can't believe it!" she said faintly, horror in her wide brown eyes. "He spoke²⁶ as though—it didn't matter."
 
Dennis made light of the affair. "Never mind, dear. We don't know all the circumstances, and of course the skipper can't blame his mate in public. It would hurt discipline. Just try and forget it, and not refer to it."
 
The girl shivered. "I can't forget that awful scream!"
 
No further reference was made to the affair, beyond the skipper's explaining, later, that an unavoidable lurch²⁷ of the ship had caused the accident. But it was long before Florence could look upon Manuel Mendez, when he joined them at mess, without changing countenance. There was something dreadful in the grinning calm of the black Portuguese²⁸. His eternal good humour was ominous²⁹.
 
"We mustn't let little outside matters affect us," said Tom Dennis that same night. "The main point, Florence, so far as we're concerned, is your father, and the way Pontifex and his company are acting³⁰."
 
"I know, Tom, dear," she said. "They've been very good."
 
He sensed a constraint³¹ in her air, but put it down to the accident.
 
Two days later, however, the inquietude within him, which had been lulled³² to sleep by that meeting of the company, was awakened³³ with terrible swiftness. He had been discussing with Pontifex how to get into communication with Miles Hathaway, and the skipper professed³⁴ himself quite helpless in the matter, leaving it entirely³⁵ to Florence's ingenuity³⁶.
 
The lack of concern which Pontifex expressed struck Tom Dennis as being unnatural³⁷, under the circumstances. But a little later, as Dennis stood in talk with Mr. Leman, who was discussing whaling voyages, he squinted³⁸ up at the sails.
 
"Better trim your yards a bit, hadn't you?" said Dennis thoughtlessly. "Looks as if you were losing a good bit of that wind, Mr. Leman."
 
The mate started slightly.
 
"Where'd you learn so much about sails, Mr. Dennis?"
 
"Oh, I just picked it up," Dennis laughed. "But if you're in a hurry to reach Unalaska, I should think you'd trim sail a bit."
 
"Orders were to keep her as she is," said Leman curtly³⁹, and turned away.
 
Dennis shrugged⁴⁰ his shoulders. It was none of his business how the ship was run, and if Pontifex had reasons for not hurrying, well and good.
 
 
 
Meantime, the silent and motionless Miles Hathaway sat in the cabin, puffing⁴¹ sometimes at the pipe Florence filled for him, watching her as she worked, with unmoving terrible eyes. Tom helped her take care of him, and always it seemed to Dennis that Hathaway was mutely struggling to express something. Once Dennis got out a chart and attempted to locate the wreck⁴².
 
"Watch my finger, Captain Hathaway," he directed. "If I get 'warm', as the kids used to say, open your mouth."
 
The effort was fruitless, for although Dennis traced his fingers over the entire line of the Aleuts, Miles Hathaway remained unmoving. In the end, Dennis began to think that the man either did not understand, or possessed⁴³ a brain as dead as his body. At times, too, the paralytic⁴⁴ was almost unable to open his mouth or to swallow. His lips had no independent motion. To communicate with him seemed impossible.
 
It was the third evening following the meeting in the cabin. Tom and Florence had put Hathaway to bed, and after bidding the skipper and his wife good night, went on deck for a breath of air. Mendez had the deck. Wishing to avoid the black mate, Florence led the way forward to the lee of the brick try-works. There Tom Dennis lighted his pipe, and for a little they sat together in silence, under the strangely soothing⁴⁵ yet invigorating influence of the slapping sails and the rushing foam-crested rollers that roared under the lee-rail.
 
Suddenly a figure appeared coming from aft, preceded by a whimpering sniffle. It was Jerry, the moon-faced cabin boy and he was blubbering away with the subdued⁴⁶ racking sobs⁴⁷ of a boy.
 
"Hello, Jerry!" said Dennis. "What's the trouble?"
 
Jerry peered at them and rubbed his eyes,
 
"The Missus whaled me; then he chipped in and kicked the back off'm me, drat him!"
 
"What'd you do, Jerry?"
 
"Nothin' at all!" responded the boy defiantly⁴⁸. "The mate sent me down to clean his cabin, an' they didn't know I was there, an' the door was open. He says it's a hell of a note about Frenchy not bringin' that phonygraft, and it was the best idea ever was, and she says yes, maybe we'd better give the old son of a gun another taste of hot iron. He says no, there ain't no need of that, because we got the bulge⁴⁹ on him now and he'll talk in a hurry, knowin' she's aboard, and it's all Bo'sun's fault for slippin' up and lettin' Frenchy slip up that way. Just then they heard me, and she whaled me and he kicked me up the ladder. Drat him! I wisht I was off'm this old ship!"
 
Jerry passed on forward, sniffling.
 
 
 
Tom Dennis stood very still. He felt Florence draw herself up; he caught a startled gasp⁵⁰ from her lips; but he was thinking with a wild sickening surety, of what the skipper had said. Frenchy—and the phonograph!
 
There was the missing link. No use disguising the facts any longer; no use trying to cover up what was only too obvious! Frenchy—that was the assassin; and Ericksen had been in partnership⁵¹ with him, there in Chicago! And Hathaway would talk now that Florence was aboard——
 
Tom Dennis shivered suddenly. "Come, dear!" he said in a strange voice. "Come below. I have something to tell you."
 
He felt that she was sobbing⁵² softly, and halted. "What's the matter, Florence?"
 
She only shook her head, and taking his arm accompanied him to the companionway. Dennis was alarmed by her attitude; upon reaching their own cabin she threw her arms about him, a sudden paroxysm of sobs shaking her whole body. Dennis could obtain no response to his queries⁵³ for a moment, until the girl suddenly looked up into his eyes.
 
"I—I couldn't tell you before, Tom! I thought perhaps it had been the wreck, and all that," she said, brokenly. "But poor father—his feet were burned, and his arms—at least, I know now that the scars were of burns! You heard what Jerry said. And father's eyes are giving him a lot of trouble; sometimes he can't use them at all, and it seems to hurt him when they're open. I—I can't dare to think that anyone would have deliberately⁵⁴ hurt him——"
 
"Good Lord!" broke from Dennis. "It's not credible⁵⁵! Yet, if Frenchy was my Chicago visitor—here, old girl, sit down! I've something to tell you. I can't quite face the meaning of it—yet it's bound to mean but one thing——"
 
He drew the wondering sobbing girl to a chair beside him, and for the first time told her of his strange assailant in Chicago on the night of their departure. He connected up the links—finding Ericksen in the man's compartment⁵⁶; the square suitcase and its contents—and now the remarks of Pontifex about that phonograph, as reported by the innocent Jerry.
 
As she listened, the apprehension⁵⁷ and grief of Florence for the helpless and seemingly tortured father began to be absorbed in the deep significance of the entire affair. She sat in frowning thought, while Dennis drew from his memory the little things which at the time he had scarce noted⁵⁸, but which now seemed so laden⁵⁹ with significance—even the strange unconcern of Pontifex over communicating with Miles Hathaway. At this last, Florence lifted her head.
 
"I know—the same thing struck me, Tom. I was talking about it with Mrs. Pontifex to-day; she had the air of discouraging me in the attempt. Why? Why don't they want us to communicate with poor father? It will be hard at best, because of his eyes; I'm going to make up an eyewash for him until we can reach a doctor. But why their attitude? Everything seemed so honest and so kindly⁶⁰ at that meeting the other day! And when I kissed Mrs. Pontifex——"
 
"She blushed, by George!" snapped Dennis suddenly. "And anything that could make that woman blush—here, let me think! Jerry gave the whole game away to us. The clue lies in what the skipper said about your father talking now that you were aboard——"
 
 
 
He broke off abruptly⁶¹, filled and lighted his pipe, and sat staring before him. Not for nothing had he followed the newspaper game. Not for nothing had he been one of the best rewrite men in Chicago! He had been trained in the business of making a whole cloth from scattered⁶² scraps⁶³.
 
"Got it! Listen here, Florence," he said suddenly. "Pontifex found your father, and either took him to a house, where those snapshots were made, or to this ship—no matter which. Face facts, now! All this goody-goody talk is bluff⁶⁴. Pontifex was busy trying to extort⁶⁵ the secret of the Simpson's position from your father, so he sent Boatswain Joe to get you; and he sent that clever little assassin, Frenchy, to get this phonograph that's in my grip—why, we don't know. But for some reason he wanted it, and wanted it badly!
 
"Ericksen did not want me to accompany you. He called in Frenchy at the last minute to put me out of the way—and Frenchy meant murder. There's a salient fact! How did Boatswain Joe slip up, as Pontifex termed it? In not bringing you alone. They wanted you—alone! A second salient fact. Why? Pontifex has said it: in order to force your father to talk!"
 
"But Tom!" broke in Florence quickly. "Father can't talk!"
 
"All bluff. Pontifex can communicate with him, somehow. They simply didn't want us to do so."
 
"But that's why they wanted me! And then, my signature on that paper——"
 
"More bluff!" flung out Dennis. "They tortured your father—don't shrink from it—and he would not tell the secret. They got you aboard and sailed, knowing that for your sake, to get you out of their power, your father would give up anything. I'm a mere⁶⁶ incident, an incumbrance. They're not hurrying. They want Frenchy to reach Unalaska first and come aboard there. I'd recognize him again, which would spoil their game at this juncture⁶⁷."
 
"They don't mean to land us there?" She spoke steadily⁶⁸, but her face was pale.
 
"I doubt it. They'll try to get rid of me there. They may take you and your father along, to be sure that they get the right position from him. The ultimate outcome would be probably of no danger to you—they'd sell the salvaged⁶⁹ stuff to Japan or Canada or China, and would land you wherever they went. They might even keep the signed agreement—in part. They'd give you enough money to make it inadvisable for you to start any legal proceedings⁷⁰, as they have your agreement to the terms, and you'll never know how much they get for the salvage. You understand? If your father gives them the correct position of the wreck, you are possibly in no danger."
 
"And you, Tom?"
 
Dennis grinned. "They want me out of the way. They think I'll make trouble. Well, I know I will! Don't you worry about me. They'll do nothing until Unalaska and the revenue cutter are left behind, see? And by that time, little Tommy will have spoiled their game."
 
"How?" demanded Florence, her eyes anxious.
 
"Don't know yet," said Dennis cheerfully. "If I——"
 
"Tom! What was it that Pontifex said to you about reading Dumas? Why, I I know just what they got that phonograph for—oh, I wish I'd known about it!"
 
"You do? What?"
 
"Don't you remember in one of the Dumas novels there was a paralytic, and they made him blink his eyelids⁷¹ twice for 'No' and once for 'Yes'? I was thinking about it only this afternoon, and meant to try it with father! And those phonograph records, with the alphabet and numerals on them—don't you see? Play a record and father would wink⁷² at the right letter of figure until he spelled out a word——"
 
"By George!" Dennis stared at the flushed and excited girl. "By George! You've hit it square on the head—and I never thought of it! We'll try it to-morrow——"
 
Florence leaned forward, colour glowing in her pale face, her eyes dilated⁷³ by swift excitement and resolution, yet dominated by their strangely poised⁷⁴ radiance. All her spirit shone in her eyes—all her heritage of soul, her heritage of iron nature, tempered and alloyed and refined to an almost dangerous degree by her womanhood. Tom Dennis gazed into her eyes and wondered, as he had wondered on that memorable⁷⁵ afternoon when she had said: "We'll only win by daring; so we shall dare everything!"
 
"No, Tom!" she said firmly. "Not the phonograph! They must not know that we have it, or they'll know that we suspect their whole game! In the morning I'll corroborate⁷⁶ your theory from father's lips—the way that Dumas' story did. We have two or three more days until we reach Unalaska. In that time don't dare give them any suspicion! Watch everything; but say nothing.
 
"Before we reach Unalaska we'll formulate⁷⁷ a plan of action between us. They have bitterly wronged us; they have lied to us; they've tried to murder us. And we'll fight them! Do you agree?"
 
Tom Dennis laughed suddenly and kissed her on the lips.
 
"You bet!" he said deeply. "We'll fight!"