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Updated: May 31, 2025
He chose the woodland path for his walk, which struck straight down from the handsome residence street and skirted the river at a point near the Cypriani's anchorage; and here an incident of interest befell him.
From the shore a boat put out hurriedly and the faithful steward came flying over the water with meritorious speed. With him he was bringing the papers that might settle the Cypriani's mission, but Varney, for the moment, hardly gave him a thought.
He breathed in convulsive gasps, but apart from that, now that he was down, he never moved. He was as tired as a man well could be. Varney sitting closely upon him, holding him fast, felt that the reporter's clothes were wringing wet. However, he had him, and the Cypriani's great secret was once more in captivity.
Something of his contagious enthusiasm spread to and fired Varney. Fate had thrown in their way a plucky and honest man engaged in an apparently hopeless fight against overwhelming powers of darkness. He deserved help. And what possible risk was there now when the Cypriani's work was practically done?
The noise of coal scraped hurriedly out of bunkers smote the air. The Cypriani's hold throbbed with sudden life. Varney, running hastily through the two newspaper stories again to make sure that they had missed nothing that might be important to them, was presently joined by Peter, who was looking at his watch every third minute and swearing softly every time he looked.
Not a soul in Hunston must dimly suspect what he had come for. It must be gum-shoe work from start to finish, and the Cypriani's motto would be the inspiring word, "Sh-h-h." Though he had to find a nondescript child whom he did not know from Eve, he was forbidden to do it in a natural, easy, and dashing way.
With the secret of the Cypriani's ownership out, of course that would be the first thing Smith would think of: to ask Mrs. Carstairs what had brought her husband's yacht to Hunston. And when the reporter went, who could say what damaging admission he might surprise out of the poor lady, or at the least what inklings to hang diabolical guesses upon?
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