the river.
"I don't see any boat."
"There is where the wager comes in, my son. Hurry up--the moon will pop
out in another minute, and spoil the sport."
"Drifting, you say. Bet you she's empty--broke away from her moorings
and riding down with the current. Bet you half a dollar. My second bet,"
he said, warming to the work, "is an old washerwoman and her little boy,
out on their rounds collecting clothes. It's Monday. In case both firsts
are wrong, second choices get the money."
"My bet is--Ha! Stand ready with your half! There she comes--Jove!"
"Good God!" cried Peter and sprang up.
For the moon had jumped out from behind its cloud like a cuckoo in a
clock, and fallen full upon the drifting boat, now hardly fifty yards
away. In the bottom of it lay a man, sprawled over his useless oars,
his upturned face very white in the moonlight, limp legs huddled under
him anyhow. Something in the abandon of his position suggested that he
would not get up any more.
CHAPTER IV
WHICH CONCERNS POLITICS AND OTHER LOCAL MATTERS
It was an odd sight against the setting of pretty night and light, idle
talk. Peter's lip tightened.
"He's dead, poor chap!" he said, in a low voice. "Murdered."
"So it seems. We can't be sure from here, though. Where's that watch?
Here--some of you! Lower away the dinghy! Get a move!"
The boats were on their hooks, swung outboard ready for instant use. The
crew, tumbling out swiftly at the call, cleared away one and let it fall
over the side. The young men went down with it, Peter seizing the oars
as his by right. The floating boat with its strange cargo had drifted
close and was now lost in the vast black shadow of the yacht.
"Where is it?"
"I can't--Yes! There it is. Straight back. Now a little to the right.
Way enough!"
Varney, in the stern, leaned out and gripped the drifting gunwale
securely. But it was so dark here that he could see almost nothing.
"He's breathing, I think," he said, his hand against the strange man's
chest. "Pull out into the light."
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