Holman laughed at my question. "You haven't spoken much to him, Verslun.
He couldn't remember the name of a place three minutes. He only knows
that there are archaeological treasures on this island we are going to,
and he doesn't care two cents about its name. Leith has told him some
tall stories about the camp, judging by the way the old man's eyes shine
when he mentions it. Yesterday he read me Leith's description of stone
_hamungas_ and things that are supposed to have been built before Julius
Caesar invaded Britain, and he's pop-eyed with joy as he thinks how
he'll yank Fame by the tail when he gets on the ground and snapshots the
affairs. Gee! I'm glad I haven't got a kink for digging up relics and
dodging about places that went to smash thousands of years ago. A vice
like that is more expensive than the poker habit."

"Well, Newmarch says we'll strike it early in the morning," I said, "and
then we'll see whether your suspicions are correct."

"I'm infernally afraid they are," snapped the youngster. "I wouldn't
care ten cents about the brute only that the girls are aboard. I felt
sorry when I saw him climb to his feet yesterday. If you hit him again
hit him with something that will crack his skull. He's a devil, Verslun,
and before we are much older we will find it out."

I laughed at his gloomy forebodings, and as Miss Barbara Herndon came on
deck at that moment he raced away and left me to my own meditations.

My thoughts were mixed. I had pleasant and unpleasant ones. If Leith
was the scoundrel that Holman suspected, the two girls were in danger,
and now as we neared the island where they would leave the yacht to
accompany their father, the clutch of fear was upon me. On _The Waif_ I