The natives had told him about the witch-boat--any boat, in their minds, was driven by the devil if it did not have sails--and about the white woman and man being in the house. He was naturally interested. Tourists were often nosing around in yachts, but he had never seen any before. He came over the doorway--the doorways were built high to keep the pigs out--and said with general friendliness: “I hope Billy is making you comfortable.” “Yes, Roscoe. Quite comfortable,” she said, turning her face toward him. “You!--Lorraine--here!” “Why, of course. How are you Roscoe? Didn’t you get my letter? This is Captain Farwell. Mother is aboard the _Petrel_, but she isn’t well.” Tomlin looked at the Captain and nodded, still in a daze. From the way he looked back at Lorraine, Billy did not know whether Tomlin had a peeve and wasn’t trying to show it, or didn’t have one and wanted to pretend. Lorraine seemed wiser. She smiled at him in a way that, Billy thought, ought to have made a statue come from its pedestal and be human. Billy recognized that four was a multitude and said: “Captain, you just come with me, and I’ll show you a cocoanut grove or a sunset or something.” Lorraine frankly rewarded Billy with a smile and a glance. The Captain hemmed and hawed, but she said as politely as though she meant it: “Certainly Captain, we’ll excuse you. I remember you said you wanted to see a real native village. Mr. Rand, I’m sure, will be an excellent guide.” “Yes,” said Tomlin, feeling no doubt that he ought to say something, “Billy has been here only a few weeks, but he knows the natives almost as well as I.” Billy at once felt himself crumbling from the inside. He had counted much on an alibi that would give him a two year residence on the island. Lorraine seemed to realize that something was wrong. She caught Billy’s eye, and in about the tenth part of a second, then and there with nothing more than a sparkle of light from under her long lashes, made an offensive and defensive alliance with him. When they were outside the Captain said: “How one must lose track of time here! Remarkable, isn’t it! I feel as though I’d been here several days.” “The cocoanuts are down this way,” said Billy, starting off. “By the way, Rand, I don’t suppose there is any way of getting out of this place, is there?” the Captain asked. “How do you mean, get out?” It was a question uppermost in Billy’s mind. “I mean any of these islands--off like this. Just before we left Langar I heard of a couple of detectives from New York. They have tracked their man half way around the world, and discovered that about two months ago--maybe a little less--he left Langar with a German trader. The trader is out now on a trip and they’re waiting for him to come back and tell them where he dropped this man.