"Nonsense!" he cheered her insincerely. "What could happen in a staid old town like this? We're out of the woods at last!"
But she seemed unable to overcome the heaviness of her spirits even when their cab set them down at the wharf.
Here, Alan had feared, was the crucial point of danger. But his straining senses detected no sign of menace among those black, crowding shadows—and nothing happened. Mr. Barcus was found in cheerful waiting—the Seaventure ready to cast off, her motor already grumbling with impatience.
"All right?" he chirruped to his passenger and crew. "Jump aboard! We'll be off in a jiffy."
And he was as good as his word. Alan had barely set foot on deck, following the girl, when a smother of foam boiled up under the stern, the propeller blades gripped water, and the Seaventure swung away from the wharf.
After a careful search of the little craft, Alan, satisfied that all was well, nodded cheerfully.
"All right," he said to the girl. "We're clear of that lot, nobody but the three of us aboard. Now you'd best turn in. This is to be your stateroom, this one to port, and you'll have a long night's sleep to make up for what you've gone through, dearest."
He drew nearer, dropping his voice tenderly.
