As the discontented and muttering mob followed Code toward the little jail back of the Odd Fellows' Hall, none noticed that the lovely schooner that had led the procession in was stealing quietly out again into the thick of the gale.

And those who did notice it thought nothing of it in the excitement of the moment, probably judging her to be some coaster who had run in to look for a leak. She had been tied up just ten minutes at the Mallaby wharf.

As the sorry procession pa.s.sed the Schofield cottage, Code's mother ran out sobbing and threw herself upon him. She had not seen her son before (although orphan Josie had told her the _La.s.s_ was in), for Code had been closeted with Boughton, and now her first glimpse of him was as an accused criminal.

But, regardless of watching eyes and public opinion, she walked all the way to the jail with him and went inside; and the two were absolutely oblivious to their surroundings, so overjoyed were they to see each other and so intimate was their companionship.

Along the edge of the crowd great Pete Ellinwood slouched, looking with dimmed eyes at mother and son.

"Ain't she the mother, though?" he said to himself. "Just like a girl she is--not a day past thirty by her looks!"

The jailer, who was regularly employed as janitor of the Free Baptist Church, opened the little house for his unexpected guest. It consisted of a room, fitted for sleeping, and a cell. These were not connected, but were side by side, facing the pa.s.sage that ran through from front to back of the building.

Code was taken to the cell, and only his mother and Pete stayed with him to talk over the situation. It was determined to have Squire Hardy come over in the evening (it was now five o'clock) and give his opinion on the legal situation.

Ma Schofield went home and prepared her boy's supper herself, and brought it with her own hands for him to eat. Code was in the best of spirits at his success of the afternoon, and had no fear whatever as to the outcome of his present situation.

Pete had gone away for an hour, and Ma Schofield had taken the dishes back home, when the detective came in, saying that a little girl who called herself Josie had come with a message.

Code asked to see her, and the great-eyed, dark little thing wept bitterly over him, for to her fourteen years he represented all the heroes of romance. Even as she pa.s.sed him the message she knew that she could never love again and that she would shortly die of a broken heart.

Code kissed her, promptly forgot her presence, and opened the note.

It was from Elsa.

"Will be down to see you to-night at eight. Have sent a note to Nat in your name, telling him to be there, too. I think we have him on the hip, so be sure and have the squire and the officer present."

Code wondered vaguely how they had Nat on the hip, as he had been unable to find a single iota of proof to push home the case he and Elsa had built up against him.

The note brought him stark awake and eager for the conference. He had begun to drowse after a good home dinner and sixty hours without sleep, but this acted like an electric shock. He was keen and alert, for he knew that this was the night of his destiny. Either he should triumph as he had in the grueling race, or he should have to face the ignominy of transfer and legal proceedings at St. Andrew's.

At half-past seven Squire Hardy, his round, red face fringed by snowy whiskers, came in. He dragged a chair into the pa.s.sageway in front of the bar and was beginning a long and laborious law opinion when the detective, who had been to Mis' Shannon's boarding-house for dinner, returned.

The two began to fight the matter out between them when, at a quarter to eight, Nat came in, dressed in his best clothes and smoking a land cigar.

"Well, what do you want of me, Schofield?" he asked. "You sent for me, but you needn't try to beg off. I won't listen to it. Now, go ahead."

On the instant a feminine voice was heard outside, and a moment later Elsa Mallaby stepped into the little four-foot pa.s.sage.

"Oh, how many there are here!" she said in a surprised voice.

"Perhaps, Code, I had better wait until later."

"Hey, Roscoe!" sung out Code, hardly able to control his desire to grin. "Bring Mrs. Mallaby a chair." Roscoe obeyed and added two more, so that all were placed within a small compa.s.s just outside Code's cell.

From Elsa Mallaby's first entrance Nat had observed her with a certain flicker of fear and hatred in his eyes. She, on the other hand, greeted him with the same formal cordiality she had used toward the others. Though utterly incongruous in such surroundings, she seemed absolutely at her ease and instantly a.s.sumed command of the situation.

"Excuse me," said Nat, who had not sat down and shifted from one foot to the other, "but Schofield sent for me, an' I would like to find out what he wants. I've got to go along."

"Schofield didn't send for you--I sent for you. There are several things about this imprisonment of Code that don't look right to me, and we may as well settle the whole business once and for all while we are here together. Now, Mr. Durkee," she said, turning to the detective, "would you mind telling me what the charge is against Captain Schofield?"

"To tell you the truth, ma'am," said he respectfully, "there are two charges out against him. One, by the insurance company, sues for recovery of money paid on the schooner _May Schofield_, and charges that the said schooner was sunk intentionally, first because Schofield wanted a newer boat, and second because the policy of the _May_ was to expire in a few days and could not have been renewed except at a much advanced rate."

"And the other charge?"

"Is for murder in the first degree, growing out of the intentional sinking of the schooner. Captain Burns is the complainant."

"Thank you." She flashed one of her radiant smiles at him and made him a friend for life.

"That was a great race to-day," she remarked irrelevantly, but with enthusiasm. "How much did you beat the _Nettie B._, Code?"

"A half an hour," he replied, mystified at the turn of the conversation.

"Well, that _is_ a coincidence." She looked from one to the other.

"It's exactly the same amount of time he beat you seven months ago when he raced the old _May_ against the _M. C. Burns_, isn't it?" Her glance shot to Nat.

"Why, I believe it is, Mrs. Mallaby," he stammered. The quick transition to that painful and dangerous period had caught him off his guard.

"That was a great race, too," she said cheerfully, "and it's too bad you never sailed the second one. Especially after you wanted to bet so much. You thought you would win the second race, didn't you, Nat?" She was sweetness itself.

"Why, yes, I thought so," he admitted guardedly. "But I don't see what all this has got to do--"

"Well, it hasn't very much," she said deprecatingly, "but I was just interested. What made you so sure you would win that second race that you tried to bet?"

"Oh, I don't know," he answered easily. "I just had confidence--"

"In what, Nat Burns? Your schooner had easily been beaten the first time and she was notoriously slower than the _May_. Every one in the island knows that you can't sail a vessel like Code Schofield can, and that you are afraid to carry sail. To-day proved it. Anybody with half an eye could see that that stays'l was cut with a knife and didn't blow off. All these things being so, what made you so sure that you would win that second race seven months ago?"

Nat looked at her steadily. His nervousness had gone, apparently, and he was his old crafty self once more.

"That is none of your business, Mrs. Mallaby," he said insolently.

"And now if you'll let me pa.s.s I'll keep an engagement."

"Mr. Durkee," she said, "please keep Mr. Burns here until we have entirely finished."

"Yes, ma'am, I will," said the hypnotized man, and Nat, after a glare around upon the unsympathetic audience slumped down into a chair and smoked sullenly.

"Steady as she goes my friend," broke in Squire Hardy, looking at Nat.

"Answer the lady's question. What made you think you would win?"

"I refuse to answer."

"He really doesn't need to answer," said Elsa. "I will answer for him.

Code kindly let me have the log of the _M. C. Burns_."

Schofield drew the old book from his pocket and handed it through the bars. Then Elsa, opening it to the last pages, read aloud the few entries that Code had discovered that day when he was a prisoner aboard the _Nettie B._ As she read the silence was intense, but all eyes were upon Nat, who, startled at the sudden appearance of this doc.u.ment he had so long forgotten, chewed savagely upon his dead cigar. His face had grown pale and his rough hands were clasped tightly together.

"You see," said Elsa, when she had finished, "that Burns had determined upon the winning of his next race. It is perfectly clear, is it not?"