traordinary appearance of
the rocket, rising from the neighborhood of a lonely little village
between midnight and one in the morning. How I connected that mysterious
signal with a possibility of tracing Cristel, it is useless to inquire.
That was the thought in me, when I led my lost darling's father back to
his room. Without stopping to explain myself, I reminded him that the
cottage was quiet again, and told him to wait my return.

In the kitchen, I overtook the servant and his burden. The door of
communication (by which they had entered) was still open.

"Lock that door," I said.

"Lock it yourself," he answered; "I'll have nothing to do with this
business." He passed through the doorway, and along the passage, and
ascended his master's stairs.

It struck me directly that the man had suggested a sure way of protecting
Toller, during my absence. The miller's own door was already secured; I
took the key, so as to be able to let myself in again--then passed
through the door of communication--fastened it--and put the key in my
pocket. The third door, by which the Cur entered his lodgings, was of
course at my disposal. I had just closed it, when I discovered that I had
a companion. Ponto had followed me.

I felt at once that the dog's superior powers of divination might be of
use, on such an errand as mine was. We set out together for Kylam.

Wildly hurried--without any fixed idea in my mind--I ran to Kylam, for
the greater part of the way. It was now very dark. On a sandy creek,
below the village, I came in contact with something solid enough to hurt
me for the moment. It was the stranded boat.

A smoker generally has matches about him. Helped by my little short-lived
lights, I examined the interior of the boat. There was absolutely nothing
in it but a strip of old tarpaulin--used, as I guessed, to protect the
boat, or something that it carried, in rainy weather.

The village population had long since been in bed. Silence and darkness
mercilessly defied me to discover anything. For a while I waited,
encouraging the dog to circle round me and exercise his sense of smell.
Any suspicious person or object he would have certainly discovered.
Nothing--not even the fallen stick of the rocket--rewarded our patience.
Determined to leave nothing untried, I groped, rather than found, my way
to the village ale house, and succeeded at last in rousing the landlord.
He hailed me from the window (naturally enough) in no friendl