to the cabin.
The storm had passed. Low down on the edges of the world there were
still a few dark clouds, there was still an occasional glimmer of
lightning; but overhead the mists were fleecy, light and broken. A few
stars were visible here and there.

And then in a moment more a full moon rose high and serene above the
world. The May moon is often very brilliant in these latitudes, as
sailors who are familiar with the coasts of Long Island can testify.
This moon was unusually brilliant, even for the season of the year and
the quarter of the globe. It lighted up earth and sky so that it was
(in the familiar phrase) almost possible to read by it. Only a few
moments had elapsed since the rout of Logan Black's ruffians, but in
the vicinity of this remarkable island such sudden meteorological
changes are anything but rare, geographers and travelers know.

Lady Agatha had gone into the cabin to resuscitate Miss Pringle and, as
she said, "have it out with her." Cleggett, gazing from the deck
towards Morris's, in the strong moonlight, wondered when the attack
would be renewed. He thought, on the whole, that it was improbable
that Loge would return to the assault while this brightness continued.

Suddenly three figures appeared within his range of vision. They were
running. But running slowly, painfully, lamely. In the lead were the
two men whom he had first seen hazed up and down the bank of the canal
by Wilton Barnstable, and whom he had seen the second time chained in
the great detective's boat.

They were shackled wrist to wrist now. To the left leg of one of them
was attached a heavy ball. A similar ball was attached to the right leg
of the other. They had picked these balls up and were struggling along
under their weight at a gait which was more like a staggering walk than
a trot.

They were pursued by the man whom Cleggett had seen attempt to escape
from Morris's. This man still wore his suit of baby blue pajamas.

He wore nothing else. He was stiff. He moved as if the ground hurt
his bare feet.

He especially favored, as Cleggett noticed, the foot on which there was
a bunion. He was lame. He crept rather than ran. But he seemed
bitterly intent upon reaching the two men in irons who labored along
twenty or thirty feet ahead of him. And they, on their part, casting
now and then backward glances over their shoulders at their pursuer.

Cleggett divined that the men in irons had escaped from the