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 the letter which he read with Sheila peeping over his shoulder.

Shortt watched them. Shortt was a man with a temper; an old yacht captain, he had banked enough money to live on, and that fact gave him a sense of independence often expressed in freedom of speech, even to James.

He had never looked with much favor on the Baltrum crowd; it was a standing mystery to him why James had cast in his lot with them. He was frankly ashamed of the Baltrum as a cruising partner, and her crew did not appeal to him, neither Sheila in her old guernsey, nor Dicky nor Larry, especially Larry.

A book could be written on the subliminal disturbances set up between Larry, who looked down on yachtsmen from fisherman heights, and the skipper of the Dulcinea, who looked down on Larry from the height of the Dulcinea's deck.

Dicky read the letter through without comment.

“When did he go?” asked Dicky, looking up as he finished.

“Two days ago,” said Shortt. “Left the day we came in; took the Tennessee for N'York.”

“What's the Tennessee?” asked Sheila, half stunned by the news in the letter, and not quite comprehending.

“Well, she was a ship when I last saw her,” said the skipper, ruffled by the faces of the two people before him, and their manner.

If the Baltrum had been even a decent fishing yacht her small tonnage would not have mattered so much, but to think that this pair off that mud barge had established a hold on James and were evidently now disapproving of his actions was too much for Shortt.

“Well, when you next see her, or when you next see your master,” blazed out Dicky, “you can tell him my opinion of him.” He tore the letter in two and handed the check back to Shortt, who took it. “You can tell him with my compliments he's a quitter.”

“Now then,” said Shortt, folding the check carefully in three and looking at Dicky with his dark, steadfast beady eyes honest eyes with a spark in them just then, “if you want to call him down, do it yourself. I'm not going to take any of your messages.” He began to warm. “No, if you want to call him down do it yourself, there's a cable form and his address is the Hotel Plaza, N'York. Do it yourself. I don't know who you are, I only know he took up with you and chose to cruise in your company. Seems to me he's tired of it. If he'd taken or asked for my advice, he never would—no. I call it dubious, the whole business and,” finished the skipper, “if he asked for or'd listen to my advice, he'd have no more truck with you. That's straight.”

“Perhaps you will remember that there is a lady listening to you,” said Dicky, blazing with wrath, yet not knowing how to meet these veiled allusions.

“I wasn't saying nothing a lady couldn't listen to,” said the skipper stolidly, putting the check carefully away in a drawer of the desk. “I'm only saying what I'd say to Mr. Corder and that is, keep clear of doubtful company. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with you, and I'm not saying you're right. That's the bother—I don't know. You may be highly respectable parties for all I know, but there's one question would clear it, if you have the face to answer it, and that question is—what's the grip you have on Mr. Corder? Come now, face to face and man to man, give us the facts. I get a telegram from him at Tilbury to put to sea at once and I find him at Hildersditch Pool on board of you. Out we go to sea as if some one was after us, strike Teneriffe, lay up a few days and then out we go to sea again, destination Havana, changed to Turtle Island. Drop the hook at Turtle Island and off you go, you and him, he comes back and on board, tells me to whack up for Havana. Gets here and off he goes to N'York on board the mail boat, leaving you command of the yacht—looked like as if he wanted to get shut of you. Well, what do you say? Man to man, what have you got to say on the whole of this business.”

“Nothing,” said Dicky. “I can't tell you anything at all about it, except that it's a secret.”

“Oh, a secret, is it?” said the captain.

“Yes,”

“Well, I ain't Mr. Corder's parents and guardians, but if I was I'd be asking you these questions through Pinkertons. Pinkertons—you know Pinkertons?”

“I know this,” said Dicky, “if there wasn't a lady present, I'd Oh, come on, Sheila,.”