The fish which that indefatigable Jack-of-all trades, Spanish Dick, had caught, was sizzling in the pan, flanked with appetizing brown slabs of bacon, when Ben returned.
Even in later years he never would admit as much, but I have always had a feeling that he did not like that cavern any more than Sally. It must have been awesome, for it was already growing late when he climbed over the sea-wall, and rather dark. Still, in the warmth of the fire and her welcome, he hailed her cheerily enough:
"It's an N and it means—"
"Five paces North," she finished for him.
"Five yards, or rods, or something or other, North, but how did you guess?"
"Someone told me just now."
"Someone told you."
"Yes, guess."
"Not Spanish Dick again."
"No—it was a stranger. And, oh, Ben it was the man I saw in the haunted house up yonder."
"What's his name? Who is he?"
"Charles Larone. I asked him several questions—all I could decently—and yet, come to think of it, he didn't tell much about himself. He's had a lot of trouble in his life."
"I thought he didn't tell you much about himself."
"He didn't. I did know he lost his mother, that beautiful old lady who died on the island. I could guess the rest. He was very handsome, and I did like him so much."
If, instead of two-stepping in a Salthaven parlour, Stella had been there, she would have declared that Sally was try-
