hant had
ever before seen it. At first the latter had put it down to the natural
interest of his own arrival, the showing of the boat to a new-comer, and
the start of the cruise generally, but as dinner progressed he began
to feel there must be some more tangible cause for the excitement his
friend was so obviously feeling. It was not Merriman's habit to beat
about the bush.

"What is it?" he asked during a pause in the conversation.

"What is what?" returned Hilliard, looking uncomprehendingly at his
friend.

"Wrong with you. Here you are, jumping about as if you were on pins and
needles and gabbling at the rate of a thousand words a minute. What's
all the excitement about?"

"I'm not excited," Hilliard returned seriously, "but I admit being a
little interested by what has happened since we parted that night in
London. I haven't told you yet. I was waiting until we had finished
dinner and could settle down. Let's go and sit in the Jardin and you
shall hear."

Leaving the restaurant, they strolled to the Place des Quinconces,
crossed it, and entered the Jardin Public. The band was not playing and,
though there were a number of people about, the place was by no means
crowded, and they were able to find under a large tree set back a little
from one of the walks, two vacant chairs. Here they sat down, enjoying
the soft evening air, warm but no longer too warm, and watching the
promenading Bordelais.

"Yes," Hilliard resumed as he lit a cigar, "I have had quite an
INTERESTING time. You shall hear. I got hold of Maxwell of the
telephones, who is a yachtsman, and who was going to Spain on holidays.
Well, the boat was laid up at Southampton, and we got down about midday
on Monday week. We spent that day overhauling her and getting in stores,
and on Tuesday we ran down Channel, putting into Dartmouth for the night
and to fill with petrol. Next day was our big day--across to Brest,
something like 170 miles, mostly open sea, and with Ushant at the end
of it--a beastly place, generally foggy and always with bad currents.
We intended to wait in the Dart for good weather, and we wired the
Meteorological Office for forecasts. It happened that on Tuesday night
there was a first-rate forecast, so on Wednesday we decided to risk it.
We slipped out past the old castle at Dartmouth at 5 a.m., had a topping
run, and were in Brest at seven that evening. There we filled up again,
and next day, Thursday, we made St. Nazaire, at the mo