his clues.

"So you think of visiting the police sergeant?" she asked, by way of
keeping up the conversation.

But the skipper's whole attention was fixed on the voices in the next
room, into which the Pilot had conducted his visitor.

"H'm," said Sartoris, "I had an idea I knew the voice, but I must have
been mistaken. Who is the party, Miss Rose?"

"I haven't the slightest clue," replied the girl, smiling. "Father has
such a number of strange friends in the port that I've long given up
trying to keep count of them. They come at all hours, about all sorts of
things."

The words were hardly out of her mouth, when the Pilot, wearing a most
serious expression of face, entered the room.

"Well, well," he said, "well, well. Who'd ha' thought it? Dear, dear. Of
all the extraordinary things! Now, Cap'n Sartoris, if you'd 'a' asked
_me_, I'd 'a' said the thing was impossible, impossible. Such things
goes in streaks, and his, to all intents and purposes, was a bad 'n; and
then it turns out like this. It's most remarkable, most extraordinary.
It's beyond me. I don't fathom it."

"What the deuce an' all are you talkin' about, Summerhayes?" Sartoris
spoke most deprecatingly. "A man would think you'd buried a shipmate, or
even lost your ship."

"Eh? What?" the Pilot thundered. "Lost my ship? No, no. I've bin wrecked
in a fruiter off the coast of Sardinia, an' I've bin cast away on the
island of Curacoa, but it was always in another man's vessel. No, sir,
_I_ never failed to bring the owners' property safe into port. Any fool
can run his ship on shore, and litter her cargo along half-a-mile of sea
coast."

"We've heard that argyment before," said Sartoris. "We quite
understand--you couldn't do such a thing if you tried. You're a most
exceptional person, and I'm proud to know you; but what's this dreadful
thing that's redooced you to such a state of bad temper, that your best
friends 'd hardly know you? I ask you that, Summerhayes. Is it anything
to do with these clues that's on the table?"

"Clues be----!" It is sad to relate that the Pilot of Timber Town
was about to use a strong expression, which only the presence of his
daughter prevented. "Come out of that room there," he roared. "Come, an'
show yourself."

There was a heavy tread in the passage, and presently there entered the
room a very shabby figure of a man. A ruddy beard obscured his face; his
hair badly needed cutting; his boots were dirty and much worn; his