the haven, and eat my lunch ashore at Mr. Job's hotel. Mr. Job would
doubtless be pleased to recover his long-lost volume, and I had no more
wish than right to retain it.

Job's hotel was unpretending. Mrs. Job offered me ham and eggs and, as
an alternative, a cut off a boiled silver-side of beef, if I did not
mind waiting for ten minutes or so, when her husband would be back to
dinner. I said that I would wait, and added that I should be pleased to
make Mr. Job's acquaintance on his return, as I had a trifling message
for him.

About ten minutes later, while studying a series of German lithographs
in the coffee-room, I heard a heavy footstep in the passage and a knock
at the door; and Mr. Job appeared, a giant of a man, with a giant's
girth and red cheeks, which he sufflated as a preliminary of speech.

"Good day, Mr. Job," said I. "I won't keep you from your dinner, but
the fact is, I am the unwilling guardian of a trifle belonging to you."
And I showed him the Visitors' Book.

I thought the man would have had an apoplectic fit there on the spot.
He rolled his eyes, dropped heavily upon a chair, and began to breathe
hard and short.

"Where--where--?" he gasped, and began to struggle again for breath.

I said, "For some reason or other the sight of this book distresses you,
and I think you had better not try to speak for a bit. I will tell you
exactly how the book came into my possession, and afterwards you can let
me have your side of the story, if you choose." And I told him just
what I have told the reader.

At the conclusion, Mr. Job loosed his neckcloth and spoke--

"That book, sir, ought to be lyin' at the bottom of the sea. It was
lost on the evening of September the 3rd, 1886, on board a yacht that
went down with all hands. Now I'll tell you all about it. There was a
gentleman called Blake staying over at Port William that summer--that's
four miles up the coast, you know."

I nodded.

". . . staying with his wife and one son, a tall young fellow, aged
about twenty-one, maybe. They came from Liverpool--and they had a yacht
with them, that they kept in Port William harbour, anchored just below
the bridge. She would be about thirty tons--a very pretty boat.
They had only one hired hand for crew; used to work her themselves for
the most part; the lady was extraordinary clever at the helm, or at the
sheets either. Very quiet people they were. You might see them most
days that summer, anchore