The great
puzzle revolved about the strange actions of the girl; her part in the
affair presenting an unsolvable riddle. They must have talked for an
hour, discussing the situation frankly from every angle, yet arriving at
no definite conclusion. The sky in the east was red with dawn when both
men fell fast asleep in their chairs, still waiting.
It was nine o'clock, and still no word. The two had eaten a hasty
breakfast in a restaurant across the street, discussing the situation
again thoroughly, but to no more satisfactory result. It seemed
impossible to reconcile certain facts. If the silver knife, with its call
for help, had indeed been dropped by Natalie Coolidge, and she was being
held a prisoner in the hands of villains on board the _Seminole_, why had
she acted toward West as she did in that house on Wray Street? To all
appearances there she had been hand in glove with the conspirators,
willing even to connive at the Captain's murder if necessary to the
success of their crime. Only one theory was possible; that the girl was
under constraint, driven to her strange act by personal fear. She dare do
nothing else, terrorized by the threats of Hobart, and her own sense of
utter helplessness in his power. This, and this only, must be the answer
to the riddle.
McAdams, unable to remain quiet, departed to get his police search
started in an attempt to discover Hobart in his new hiding place. The
fellow could not be on the yacht, as that had sailed from Jackson Port at
far too early an hour for him to have possibly made one of the party.
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