Wyndham was talking to Peters, who had arrived in the afternoon, and Marston, standing near them, frowned. He was annoyed that Peters had come, because he had wanted to talk to Wyndham and after the other's arrival this was impossible. It was unlucky he had put it off, but he did not see why Harry had urged the fellow to stay and go back to the village with him when the schooner sailed. Marston felt rather hurt, since it almost looked as if Harry had kept Peters in order to prevent him trying to satisfy his curiosity. Marston was curious. The old mulatto had told Harry something that had given him a bad jar; Bob could not forget his comrade's strained look when he entered the cabin, and he had found no clew to the puzzle. It was a relief to go to sea, but the satisfaction he had expected to get was dulled. He felt as if he were running away and leaving his partner when the latter needed him. Yet somebody must go and Harry would not. "Short up, sah!" a Krooboy shouted when the windlass stopped. The pilot gave an order, and the foresail began to rise with a rattle of blocks. The canvas flapped and swelled, and Marston went forward. "Break out the anchor," he said. "Hoist the inner jib." Dark figures rose and fell with the windlass-bars; slowly at first, then faster, as with a harsh clank the chain ran through the pipe. Marston had generally found the noise inspiriting. It hinted at adventure on the open sea, but it did not move him now; he was not leaving the lagoon for good. Yet he was soothed when _Columbine_ began to move. After lying on the mud, he liked to feel her lift as she met the gentle swell the tide brought in, and hear the ripple splash about her bows. The mangroves stole past, a gap opened in the trees, and a faintly-glittering track led out to sea. "Hoist the mainsail," said the pilot, and the splash of ripples was louder when the dark canvas rose. She drove out with the land-breeze and met the rollers on the bar. They were not high and hardly broke, only one here and there melting into foam. She lurched across with dry decks, and when the leadsman got deeper water the pilot brought her round and pulled up his canoe. Marston went to the gangway with Wyndham and Peters, and the latter laughed as he gave him his hand. "I don't know if we'll meet again, but it's possible," he said. "You offered a good reward for some information not long since. I wonder whether you were rash." "The offer stands," Marston replied. "The man who tells me all about our agent's death will find me generous." "Oh, well," said Peters. "I can't state that I expect to claim the reward, but after all I might. Then I hope we'll both be satisfied." Marston let him go. He would have given much for ten minutes' frank talk with Wyndham, but this was impossible. The pilot was waiting and the yacht drifting near a dangerous shoal. He resigned himself and gave his comrade his hand. "Run no risks and take care of yourself until I come back," he said.