“The liar!” grated Mr. Atkins, between his teeth.  “The traitor!  The young blackguard!  After tellin’ me that he . . .  And after my doin’ everything for him that . . .  Oh, by Judas, wait! only wait till he comes back!  I’ll l’arn him!  I’ll show him!  Oh, by jiminy crimps!”

He strode toward the doorway of the kitchen.  There he stopped short.  A woman was seated in the kitchen rocker; a stout woman, with her back toward him.  The room, in contrast to the bright sunshine without, was shadowy, and Seth, for an instant, could see her but indistinctly.  However, he knew who she must be—­the housekeeper at the bungalow—­“Basket” or “Biscuit” his helper had said was her name, as near as he could remember it.  The lightkeeper ground his teeth.  Another female!  Well, he would teach this one a few things!

He stepped across the threshold.

“Ma’am,” he began, sharply, “perhaps you’ll tell me what you—­”

He stopped.  The stout woman had, at the sound of his step, risen from the chair, and turned to face him.  And now she was staring at him, her face almost as white as the stone-china cups and saucers on the table.

“Why . . . why . . .  Seth!” she gasped.

The lightkeeper staggered back until his shoulders struck the doorpost.

“Good Lord!” he cried; “good . . .  Lord!  Why—­why—­Emeline!”

For over a minute the pair stared at each other, white and speechless.  Then Mrs. Bascom hurried to the door, darted out, and fled along the path around the cove to the bungalow.  Atkins did not follow her; he did not even look in the direction she had taken.  Instead, he collapsed in the rocking-chair and put both hands to his head.

CHAPTER X

THE BUNGALOW WOMAN

When, an hour later, the swimming teacher, his guilty conscience pricking him, and the knowledge of having been false to his superior strong within him, came sneaking into the kitchen, he was startled and horrified to find the lightkeeper awake and dressed.  Mentally he braced himself for the battery of embarrassing questions which, he felt sure, he should have to answer.  It might be that he must face something more serious than questions.  Quite possible Seth, finding him absent, had investigated—­and seen.  Well, if he had, then he had, that was all.  The murder would be out, and Eastboro Twin-Lights would shortly be shy a substitute assistant keeper.

But there were no embarrassing questions.  Atkins scarcely noticed him.  Seated in the rocker, he looked up as the young man entered, and immediately looked down again.  He seemed to be in a sort of waking dream and only dimly conscious of happenings about him.

“Hello!” hailed the assistant, with an assumption of casual cheerfulness.

“Hey?  Oh! how be you?” was Mr. Atkins’s reply.

“I’ve been for my dip,” explained Brown.  “The water was fine to-day.”