hout being aware of it. A strong sea was
running with a stiff breeze, and although his seamanship was poor, he
was capable enough to recognize at once that they were in a very
perilous position.

"Very fortunate it wasn't more serious, sir," he added, after telling me
his story, which I wrote at his dictation for the ultimate benefit of
the Board of Trade.

"Didn't you send up signals of distress?" I Inquired.

"No, sir--never thought of it."

"And yet you knew that you might be lost?" I remarked with recurring
suspicion.

The canny Scot, whose name was Mackintosh, hesitated a few moments, then
answered--

"Well, sir, you see the fishing-boat had sighted us, and we saw her
turning back to port to fetch help."

His excuse was a neat one. Probably it was his neglect to make signals
of distress that had aroused the suspicions of the Captain of the Port.
From first to last the story of the master of the _Lola_ was, I
considered, a very unsatisfactory one.

"How long have you been in Mr. Hornby's service?" I inquired.

"Six months, sir," was the man's reply. "Before he engaged me, I was
with the Wilsons, of Hull, running up the Baltic."

"As master?"

"I've held my master's certificate these fifteen years, sir. I was with
the Bibbys before the Wilsons, and before that with the General Steam.
I did eight years in the Mediterranean with them, when I was chief
mate."

"And you've never been into Leghorn before?"

"Never, sir."

I dismissed the captain with a distinct impression that he had not told
me the whole truth. That cicatrice did not improve his personal
appearance. He had left his certificates on board, he said, but if I
wished he would bring them to me on the morrow.

Was it possible that an attempt had actually been made to cast away the
yacht, and that it had been frustrated by the master of the felucca, who
had sighted the vessel aground? There certainly seemed some mystery
surrounding the circumstances, and my interest in the yacht and its
owner deepened each hour. How, I wondered, had the captain received that
very ugly wound across the cheek? I was half-inclined to inquire of him,
but on reflection decided that it was best to betray no undue curiosity.

That evening when the fiery sun was sinking in its crimson glory,
bathing the glassy sea with its blood-red light and causing the islands
of Gorgona and Capraja to loom forth a deep purple against the distant
horizon, I took a cab along the o