aid of a policeman and
get some authority to hail the craft and order her to return, or was
there time to take a cab in the Cannebiere and drive furiously to the
hotel, where Brett, Fairholme, and her brother must be anxiously
awaiting her return?

Rapidly as these alternatives suggested themselves, she dismissed them.
It was best to fall in with Marie's suggestion and ascertain beyond
doubt the identity of the fishing smack. Then, at any rate, Brett would
have a tangible and definite clue.

So she hastened with her companions along the three sides of the now
almost deserted quay, and, in accordance with the prediction of her
youthful guides, she reached the promenade beyond the small lighthouse
of the inner port before the vessel had quitted the harbour. To move a
forty-ton boat with oars is a slow matter at the best.

As the craft came creeping steadily through the narrow channel Edith
saw, to her great relief, that two of the men drew in their sweeps, and
commenced to haul upon ropes whilst the clanking and groaning of pulleys
heralded the slow rising of the mainsail.

She thought the sail would never climb up in time, but as it began to
yield to the steady pull of the men it mounted more and more rapidly,
and at last, feeling the influence of a gentle breeze blowing off the
land, it shook out its cumbrous folds and the number stood clearly
revealed in huge white letters on the dark brown canvas.

At first, in her eagerness, she could hardly discern it, save a big "M"
and an "R."

"There!" cried Eugenie, bubbling over with excitement. "There it is!
'M.R. 107,' Marseilles, No. 107, you know. Why, isn't that Jacques le
Bon's boat?" she demanded from her companion.

"Yes, it is," said Marie; "and there is Jacques himself standing by the
tiller."

Edith's eyes were now becoming accustomed to the night and the dancing
water.

"Where are the others?" she said. "I cannot see them. There is no one
standing on the deck but the sailors."

"Oh, they have gone below, I expect," said the practical Marie. "They
will be in the way of the sails, you know. There is not much room for
people who don't work on the deck of a small ship like that. Besides,
they don't want to be seen. If a customs officer or a harbour official
were to notice the boat now he would think that Le Bon was going out
fishing for the night, but he would be sure to wonder what was happening
if he caught sight of a woman on board. Funny, isn't it," she