over my shoulder, of Farrell, who had crawled to
the doorway: and with that I was through the strait and sculling for
open water, while the baffled dog raced to and fro on the spits and
ledges astern, pausing only to bark after me as though he would cough
his heart out.

"In the open water I hoisted sail, with the wind dead aft, and soon,
beyond the point, caught sight of the schooner. After running out
almost three miles, she had hauled close to the wind and was now
heading almost due north. . . . She could not miss me, and yet I had
made almost two miles before she got her head-sheets to windward and
stood by for me.

"As I drew close, a thin-faced man with a pointed beard hailed me
from her after-deck.

"'Ahoy, there! And who might _you_ be, mistaking the Pacific for
Broadway, New York?'

"'I'm from the island,' I answered.

"'What ship's boat is that you've gotten hold of?' he bawled.

"The _Two Brothers_.'

"'Lordy! I _thought_ I reckernised her. . . . Then you're old Buck
Vliet's missionary, that he marooned.' . . . Shall I go on, Roddy?"

I dropped my cigar into the ash-tray. "You may stop at that," I
answered, unable (that's the queer part of it) to lift my eyes and
look him in the face, although I knew very well that he was leaning
back in his chair, eyeing me steadily, challenging the verdict.
"Yes," said I, slowly turning the cigar-stump around in its ash,
"I'm sorry, Jack . . . but I don't want to hear any more."

"I knew you would take it so," said Jack quietly, with a sort of
sigh.

"Well," said I, "how else? Of course I know you'd had a damnable
provocation, to start with. And I'm no man to judge you, not having
been through the like or the beginnings of it. . . . You were
rescued, for here you are. That's enough. But--damn it all!--you
left the man!"

"--And the dog. While we are about it, don't let us forget the dog,"
said Jack wearily. "Shall we toss who pays the bill? Here--waiter!"

We parted under the porch-cover, in the traffic of Regent Street.
I have told you that, in our best of days, Jack and I never shook
hands, meeting or parting. It saved awkwardness now.

BOOK IV.

THE COUNTERCHASE.

NIGHT THE TWENTY-FIRST.

THE YELLOW DOG.

About two months later--to be accurate, it was seven weeks and two
days--my flat in Jermyn Street was honoured with a totally unexpected
call by Constantia Denistoun. Constantia has a way of committing
improprieti