so float on top again. If the fool only had sense enough to
slow her down, I thought to myself, that bit of a craft would almost go
through hell itself without a scorch. I realized that we were getting
dangerously close, for I was going fast before the wind. So I quickly
gave a passing-signal blast from our whistle, indicating that we would
pass her on the port side. What do you suppose that fool at the wheel
did then? Close as we were, and with no other reason that I could guess
other than a desire to court death, he deliberately answered my signal
with two blasts. They meant that he was going to starboard, almost
diagonally across our bow. I saw it was too late to correct his error,
so I simply had to accept his cross signal, and I did my best to avoid a
collision. I was successful--no thanks to him. We missed _The Isabel_ by
a hair. As it was, I thought that in spite of all we could do the
suction from our propellers would draw in and crush the smaller boat
against our side. I fancy we missed it more through good luck and the
grace of God than through good management. And now what do you think?

"That chap at the wheel, instead of appearing grateful and giving me
three blasts in salute, stuck his head and shoulders out of the
pilot-house window and shook his fist at me. He yelled, too, and the
wind brought the words down to me. 'You're only a dirty tramp, but you
think you own the seas!' You boys know that that word 'tramp' for a good
honest trading steamer always did get on my nerves. I admit I swore a
little at the bunglesome cuss, but he was well to windward, so I might
just as well have saved my breath.

"I honestly believe that that ornery fellow in the pilot house was crazy
as a bed-bug. Stranger still, there wasn't another soul in sight aboard
of her. I'm thinking I'll report the affair to the inspectors. There's
no doubt in my mind that _The Isabel_ weathered the storm for the chap
was headin' her straight as he could go for Ocracoke Inlet. As the yacht
was of light draft she could easily get over the bar and into Pamlico
Sound, where he could haul to under the lea of the sand dunes. Down
there that craft would ride out 'most anything that might come along."

The detective, with a gesture to Roy that he should remain in his seat,
arose and crossed over to the Captain of the tramp steamer. He called
the man aside, and frankly explained how he had overheard the narrative
concerning the yacht _Isabel_. He admi