It was all that was said, but I was relieved to note that Sydney seemed greatly impressed.  Still, half an hour later, I saw him sitting in a steamer-chair beside Leontine again, watching the beautiful play of the moonlight on the now almost tropical ocean after we had emerged from the Gulf Stream.  I felt that it was rather dangerous, but at least he had had his warning.

Seeking Kennedy, I found him at last in the smoking-room, to my surprise talking with Erickson.  I joined them, wondering how I was to convey to Craig what I had just seen without exciting suspicion.  They were discussing the commercial and agricultural future of the islands under the American flag, especially the sugar industry, which had fallen into a low estate.

“I suppose,” remarked Kennedy, casually, “that you are already modernizing your plant and that others are doing the same, getting ready for a revival.”

Erickson received the remark stolidly.  “No,” he replied, slowly.  “Some of us may be doing so, but as for me, I shall be quite content to sell if I can get my price.”

“The planters are not putting in modern machinery, then?” queried Kennedy, innocently, while there flashed over me what he had discovered about shipments of agricultural implements.

Erickson shook his head.  “Some of them may be.  But for one that is, I know twenty whose only thought is to sell out and take a profit.”

The conversation trailed off on other subjects and I knew that Kennedy had acquired the information which he sought.  As neatly as I could I drew him apart from Erickson.

“Strange he should tell me that,” ruminated Kennedy as we gained a quiet corner of the deck.  “I know that there is a lot of stuff consigned to planters in the island, some even to himself.”

“He must be lying, then,” I hastened.  “Perhaps these promoters are really plotters.  By the way, what I wanted to tell you was that I saw Sydney and Leontine together again.”

He was about to reply when the sound of some one approaching caused us to draw back farther into the shadow.  It proved to be Whitson and Nanette.

“Then you do not like St. Thomas?” we heard Whitson remark, as if he were repeating something she had just said.

“There is nothing there,” she replied.  “Why, there aren’t a hundred miles of good roads and not a dozen automobiles.”

Evidently the swiftness of life in New York of which she had tasted was having its effect.

“St. Croix, where we have the plantation, is just as bad.  Part of the time we live there, part of the time at Charlotte Amalie in St. Thomas.  But there is little difference.  I hope Jorgen is able to sell.  At least I should like to live a part of the year in the States.”

“Would he like that, too?”

“Many of us would,” she replied, quickly.  “For many years things have been getting worse with us.  Just now it seems a bit better because of the high price of sugar.  But who knows how long that will last?  Oh, I wish something would happen soon so that we might make enough money to live as I want to live.  Think; here the best years of life are slipping away.  Unless we do something soon, it will be too late!  We must make our money soon.”