Helena sat suddenly upright--the noise of the surf muffled the sound of
the voice, but that was probably Doc now--she could hear footsteps
running from the direction of the cottage. Deliberately, Helena leaned
back again against the rock, took out a cigarette and with no attempt to
shade the flame of the match, rather to use it as a challenging beacon,
held it to the cigarette--but for the second time she flung both match
and cigarette hurriedly away. It wasn't Madison at all--it was only the
Flopper.

"Say!" gasped the Flopper, blowing hard. "Why can't youse answer when
yer called? Wot you tryin' ter do--light a bonfire ter save yer voice?
Say, youse wanter get a wiggle on--beat it--quick! Dey're after you."

"What?" cried Helena sharply, jumping to her feet. "After me? Who? What
do you mean?"

"I dunno," said the Flopper with sudden imperturbability--and evidently
quite pleased with the agitation he had caused. "He talks like his mouth
was full, an' he's got a scare t'rown inter him so's his teeth have got
de jiggles."

Helena caught the Flopper's arm and shook him angrily.

"What are you talking about--what is it?" she demanded fiercely.

"It's de porter from de private car," said the Flopper, wriggling away
from her. "He drove out here. De lady's on de toboggan--sick. She's
askin' fer youse an'--"