“I remember,” he said. “’E kyme up this afternoon ter warn me an Mr. Templar that the Tiger was meanin’ ter do us in to-night. An’ I sore ’im drivin orf along the Ilfracombe road in the farmer’s trap, me eyes bein’ rather good. . . . Carn’s fahndart somefing. Wod did ’e wanter go ter Ilfracombe for?” “If he _has_ found out anything,” said the girl swiftly, “he probably went off to call in some reinforcements. Perhaps he found out about the ship coming in to-night. And in that case he’ll be back soon.” “Mos’ likely,” agreed Orace cautiously. “But yer carn’t bet on it, yer know.” She bit her lip. “That’s true. We’ve got to make our arrangements and leave him out. If he arrives, so much the better. I don’t know,” said Patricia slowly, “that I wouldn’t rather find the Tiger before Carn does.” Orace, that simple soul, was amazed at the concentrated savageness of her low, even voice. Women, in his philosophy, did not behave like this. But Patricia had the gift of leadership, and he had ceased to question her authority. He made no comment. “We must wait till they come in for the gold,” she said. “We might as well go back to the Pill Box and have dinner. We shall want all our strength.” Of a sudden the girl had become a remorseless fighting machine. She had fallen into her part as if she had been born and trained for no other purpose. It was not so much that the _rôle_ fitted her as that she was able to adapt herself to the _rôle_. She ruthlessly suppressed her grief, finding that the rush of action took her mind off the awful thought of Simon’s fate. She allowed place in her brain for no other thought than that of trapping the Tiger and squaring up the account, and she concentrated on the task with every atom of force she could muster. A sense of the unreality of the whole affair possessed her, drying up tears and crushing out sentiment. Her world was reeling and racing about her—the landmarks were hopelessly lost—but she felt herself poised above the chaos, remote and stable. The sword in her hand wielded her. _She was going on with the job._ The fight was going to be battled out to the last second, with the last ounce of vital energy in her body; for the time, she seemed to be beyond human limitations. When it was all over and settled one way or the other the tension would snap and she would hurtle down into black abysses of terror and despair; but while the war was still to be waged she knew that hers was a strength greater than herself—knew that she could stand on the brink of the chasm in the blinding light and fight tirelessly on to the death. She said, in that new, cold dispassionate voice: “We shall want help—the odds are too great against two of us. I’ll get Mr. Lomas-Coper. He’s the only man here I could trust.” “_’Im?_” spat the disgusted Orace. “That thunderin’ jelly-bag?” “I know he’s not such an ass as he pretends to be,” said Patricia. “He’ll weigh in all right.”