at hand for a solution of
the mystery. Eagerly Neils turned to the last entry. It was not
in Captain Scraggs's handwriting, and contained nothing more
interesting than the stereotyped reports of daily observations,
currents, weather conditions, etc., including a notation of
arrival that day at Honolulu. Slowly Halvorsen turned the leaves
backward, until at last he was rewarded by a glimpse of a
different handwriting. It was the last entry under that
particular handwriting, and read as follows:

June 21, 19--. Took an observation at noon, and find
that we are in 20-48 S., 178-4 W. At this rate should
lift Tuvana-tholo early this afternoon. All hands well
and looking forward to the fun at Tuvana. Bent a new
flying jib this morning and had the king and Tabu-Tabu
holystone the deck.

A.P. GIBNEY.

Neils Halvorsen sat down to think, and after several minutes of
this unusual exercise it appeared to the Swede that he had
stumbled upon a clue to the situation. The last entry in the log
kept by Mr. Gibney was under date of June 21st--just eleven days
ago, and on that date Mr. Gibney had been looking forward to some
fun at Tuvana-tholo. Now where was that island and what kind of a
place was it?

Neils searched through the cabin until he came across the book
that is the bible of every South Sea trading vessel--the British
Admiralty Reports. Down the index went the old deckhand's
calloused finger and paused at "Friendly islands--page 177";
whereupon Neils opened the book at page 177 and after a
five-minute search discovered that Tuvana-tholo was a barren,
uninhabited island in latitude 21-2 south, longitude 178-49 west.

Ten days from the Friendly Islands, the paper said. That meant
under power and sail with the trades abaft the beam. It would
take nearer fifteen days for the run from Honolulu to that desert
island, and Neils Halvorsen wondered whether the marooned men
would still be alive by the time aid could reach them. For by
some sixth sailor sense Neils Halvorsen became convinced that his
old friends of the vegetable trade were marooned. They had gone
ashore for some kind of a frolic, and the crew had stolen the
schooner and left them to their fate, believing that the
castaways would never be heard from and that dead men tell no
tales.

"Yumpin' yiminy," groaned Neils. "I must get a wiggle on if aye
bane steal this schooner."

He rushed on deck, carried his prisoner down into the cabin