For more than half a year now Code had been unable to think of Michael Burns or the old _May Schofield_ without a shudder of horror. But now that Nat was suddenly hot on the trail of revenge, he knew he must look at matters squarely and prepare to meet any trap which might be laid for him.
It seemed evident that the first aim in Nat's mind was the hounding of the man who had been the cause of his father's death; for that death had occurred at a most opportune time for the Schofields.
The heavy insurance on the fifty-year-old _May_ was about to run out, and it was almost a certainty that Burns would not recommend its renewal except at a vastly increased premium.
As a matter of fact, on a hurried trip that Code had taken, he had picked up Burns himself at St. John's, the inspector coming for the purpose of examining the schooner while under sail in a fairly heavy seaway.
All the island knew this, and all the island knew that Code was the only one to return alive. The inference was not hard to deduce, especially as the gale encountered had been one such as the _May_ had lived out a dozen times.
Had not all these things been enough to fire the impulsive, passionate Burns with a sullen hatred, the next events would have been. For Code received his insurance without a dispute and, not long afterward, while in Boston for the purpose, had picked up the almost new _Charming Lass_ from a Gloucester skipper who had run into debt.
Code now saw to what Nat's uncontrolled brooding had brought him, and he realized that the battle would be one of wits.
He got up to go on deck. He had only turned to the companionway when the great voice of Pete Ellinwood rumbled down to him.
"Come on deck, skipper, an' look over this schooner astern of us. There's somethin' queer about her. I don't like her actions."
Code took the steps at a jump, and a moment later stood beside Ellinwood. The _Lass_ was snoring along under full sail.
The stranger, which at eight o'clock had been five miles astern, was now, at noon, less than a mile away.
Code instinctively shot a quick glance at the compass. The schooner was running dead east.
"What's this, Ellinwood?" demanded the skipper sharply. "You're away off your course."
