Wilkins laughed. He seemed neither offended nor worried by the girl’s words. “Sure!” he answered cheerfully. “That’s understood. No gang can hold together or be successful unless they does for anybody that splits on ’em. I ain’t boastin’ none of my whiteness. Maybe I’d sell out if I thought it would pay me; but, naturally, I count myself some better than the State of New Jersey. I ain’t offerin’ myself for sale promiscuous desultory. And in this case it don’t look as if it would be altogether healthy to sell out. No! You can count on me as long as you play fair yourselves. Now, what’s the program?” Miss Fitzhugh leaned back in her chair with an expression of relief on her face. “I believe you are truer than you say, Mr. Wilkins,” she murmured. “I’m going to trust you. As to the program, I must consider. The first thing is to let me look at that letter.” “Sure!” Without hesitation, the plainsman handed over a folded sheet. Miss Fitzhugh only glanced at it. “I mean the original,” she explained, with a steely glint in her eyes. But Wilkins shook his head decidedly. “Not any,” he replied. “The aboriginal is safe, and I don’t show it to no one yet aways. It tells where the _Orkney_’s sunk, all right, and I’ll go with you and guide you till we get somewhere near. I’ve been lookin’ up the place on the map, and I can do it. Or I’ll tell you: I’ll show you the letter as soon as we get into the Baltic? How’ll that do?” “It won’t do at all. The letter may be valueless, and----” “It ain’t valueless. It tells, all right. It says ‘in a narrow strait between this island and that island.’ You needn’t worry about that part of it.” The woman hesitated. Was all this a cunningly devised plot of the Czar’s agents or was the man honest? His refusal to disclose his secret was not unnatural, and yet---- “Mr. Wilkins,” she said slowly, “I’ll take your word for it, since I can do nothing else. But I warn you solemnly that if I fail in this thing after I have spent all the money that I shall have to spend, it will cost both you and me our lives. The Brotherhood will not tolerate such a costly failure as this would be. So beware.” Wilkins nodded. “Shoot,” he said. “You’re faded.” Miss Fitzhugh looked slightly bewildered. “Very well,” she said. “On your head be it. Now we must see about getting a ship.” “A ship!” Caruth leaned forward. All through the conversation he had lain back in his chair, listening but not uttering a single word. The girl seemed entirely competent to manage things, and he felt no call to intervene, though he shivered once or twice when she spoke so openly to this plainsman, who frankly confessed that he was ready to play traitor for a sufficiently large reward. But his chance had come around at last. “A ship!” he echoed. “Don’t worry about that. I have a thousand-ton yacht eating its head off down the bay. I’ll be delighted if you will use it as your own. When shall we sail?” CHAPTER NINE