"
I remained silent, staring out across the water, endeavoring to
reconcile his statements, and wondering what message it was I had
dropped into the deep.
"What are those lights off yonder?" I asked, at length, pointing.
"Shore lights."
"Then we are steering east?"
"A bit south of east, yes; odd course for Honduras, you think?"
I nodded, willing enough to let him talk.
"We are playing the game safe, Craig; that's all," he explained, both
hands gripping the rail. "You see we cleared for Santiago, and are not
anxious to be seen and reported by any west-bound ships. We are
keeping well to the north of their course now, and tomorrow will be
hidden among the islands off the west Florida coast. Then, as soon as
it is dark, we will shoot out under full steam, into the Gulf. The
chances are we 'll cross the lane unobserved; if we should intercept a
liner, she won't identify us in the dark, as we burn no lights. By
daylight we 'll be well beyond their look-outs, and can steer a
straight course."
Vague as my memory was regarding the Gulf and its surrounding coast
line, this explanation seemed reasonable enough, and I remained silent,
gazing off across the water. He did not speak again, yet the very
proximity of the man irritated me, my dislike and distrust of him so
deep rooted that I could scarcely bear his near presence.
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