“Something else has got to be done, old man,” he said, in a voice which shook with emotion; “they’ll be on us before we can get the Maria out.”

Farrar, who was nailing a rustic bench near by, straightened up at this, his lip curling with a desire to laugh.

The Celebrity laid his hand on my client’s shoulder.

“Cooke,” said he, “I’m deeply grateful for all the trouble you wish to take, and for the solicitude you have shown.  But let things be.  I’ll come out of it all right.”

“Never,” cried Cooke, looking proudly around the Four as some Highland chief might have surveyed a faithful clan.  “I’d a damned sight rather go to jail myself.”

“A damned sight,” echoed the Four in unison.

“I insist, Cooke,” said the Celebrity, taking out his eyeglass and tapping Mr. Cooke’s purple necktie, “I insist that you drop this business.  I repeat my thanks to you and these gentlemen for the friendship they have shown, but say again that I am as innocent of this crime as a baby.”

Mr. Cooke paid no attention to this speech.  His face became radiant.

“Didn’t any of you fellows strike a cave, or a hollow tree, or something of that sort, knocking around this morning?”

One man slapped his knee.

“The very place,” he cried.  “I fell into it,” and he showed a rent in his trousers corroboratively.  “It’s big enough to hold twenty of Allen, and the detective doesn’t live that could find it.”

“Hustle him off, quick,” said Mr. Cooke.

The mandate was obeyed as literally as though Robin Hood himself had given it.  The Celebrity disappeared into the forest, carried rather than urged towards his destined place of confinement.

The commotion had brought Mr. Trevor to the spot.  He caught sight of the Celebrity’s back between the trees, then he looked at the cat-boat entering the cove, a man in the stern preparing to pull in the tender.

He intercepted Mr. Cooke on his way to the beach.

“What have you done with Mr. Allen?” he asked, in a menacing voice.

“Good God,” said Mr. Cooke, whose contempt for Mr. Trevor was now infinite, “you talk as if I were the governor of the state.  What the devil could I do with him?”

“I will have no evasion,” replied Mr. Trevor, taking an imposing posture in front of him.  “You are trying to defeat the ends of justice by assisting a dangerous criminal to escape.  I have warned you, sir, and warn you again of the consequences of your meditated crime, and I give you my word I will do all in my power to frustrate it.”

Mr. Cooke dug his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets.  Here was a complication he had not looked for.  The Scimitar lay at anchor with her sail down, and two men were coming ashore in the tender.  Mr. Cooke’s attitude being that of a man who reconsiders a rash resolve, Mr. Trevor was emboldened to say in a moderated tone: 

“You were carried away by your generosity, Mr. Cooke.  I was sure when you took time to think you would see it in another light.”