“Here,” he cried, holding out the letters he had found.  “I best pass you these.  That’s from Peterman.  There’s not much written, but a deal lies under the writing.  You’ll see he asks permission for a representative of the Skandinavia to wait on us.  I wirelessed back, ’I’d just love to death meeting him.’  By the same mail came Father Adam’s yarn.  An’ I guess that’s where the soup thickens.  He says some woman’s coming along from the Skandinavia folk.  He guesses they’re going to put up some proposition that looks like butting in on the plans laid out for Sachigo.  But that don’t seem to worry him a thing.  I guess his letter wasn’t written to hand us warning.  He seems concerned for the woman.  You’ll see.  He asks me to treat her gently.  Firmly, yes.  But also, ‘very, very gently.’  He says, ’you see, she’s a woman’.”

Bull waited while the other perused both letters.  Then, as Bat looked up questioningly, he went on: 

“That telegram got here half an hour back,” he said.  Then he shrugged.  “The woman’s on the Myra, and the vessel’s been sighted off the headland.  She’ll be along in two hours.”

“And what’re you doin’ about it?”

Bat’s eyes were searching.  Perhaps Father Adam’s letter had told him something it had failed to tell the other.

“I’ll see her right away,” Bull laughed.  “If she feels like stopping around and getting a sight of the things we’re doin’ she’s welcome.  She can put up at the visitor’s house.  It ’ud do me good for her to pass the news on to the folk she comes from.”

But Bat’s manner had none of the light confidence of the other.  Bitter hatred of the Skandinavia was deeply ingrained in him.  He shook his head.

“Keep ’em guessin’,” he said.  “It’ll worry ’em—­that way.”

Then he passed the letters back, and dropped into the chair that was always his.

“But this woman,” he went on, in obvious puzzlement.  “It’s—­it’s kind of new, I guess.  Then there’s Father Adam’s message.  That don’t hand us much.”

Bull’s lightness passed.

“No,” he said, “that message is queer.  He knows about it.  Yet he hasn’t given her name or said a thing.  Say—­I like that phrase though.  What is it?  He says, ‘treat her very, very gently—­you see, she’s a woman.’  That’s Father Adam right thro’—­sure.  But—­well it’s a pity he don’t say more.”

Bat nodded.

“You’ll go along down an’ meet her?”

“No.”  Bull shook his head decidedly.  “You will.”

Bat’s eyes twinkled with a better humour than they had hitherto displayed.

“Why—­me?”

“She comes from the Skandinavia.  Guess Skandinavia would fancy me meeting their representative at the quay—­quite a lot.”

The argument met with Bat’s entire approval.  He pulled out a silver timepiece and consulted it.