Chapter 13

“I’m going to take one of your boats, Tracey,” he remarked. “Don’t wait up for me: I shan’t go to bed to-night.” The next moment he had vanished through the open window. “Poor devil,” said Bill. “I’m sorry for him. But I don’t see that there’s anything to be done.” “There isn’t,” said Darrell. “We can only wait for this letter to-morrow morning.” He helped himself to a whiskey and soda, and I followed his example. That was all we could do—wait for the letter. But it was impossible to prevent oneself speculating on …