the night before, and had tried to turn
inshore, even before the leak was discovered. No one knew what waters
they were that lashed so furiously about the disabled craft. The storm
overhead had abated, but the rage of the sea was unquelled. Before
long the engine was stopped by the rising water, and then the hand
pumps were used. There was some hope that the leak had been discovered
and at least partly repaired. The captain thought that, if carefully
managed, the yacht might hold till daylight.

Jimmy joined the gang and worked like a Trojan, helping wherever a man
was needed, shifting ballast, untackling the boats, handling the pump.
It was at the pump that he found himself, some time during the night,
working endlessly, it seemed. Not once had he lost sight of the real
purpose of his presence on the yacht. If Agatha Redmond were aboard
the unlucky vessel--and he had moments of curious perplexity about
it--he was there to watch for her safety. He pictured her sitting
somewhere in the endangered vessel. She could not but be terrified at
her predicament. Whether shipwreck or abduction threatened her, she
must feel that she had indeed fallen into the hands of her enemies.

He worked his turn at the pump, then made up his mind to risk no
further delay, but to search the ship's cabins. She was in one of
them, he believed; frightened she must be, possibly ill. He had done
all that the furthest stretch of duty could demand in assistance to the
ship. He would find Agatha Redmond at any cost, if she were aboard the
_Jeanne D'Arc_. Again he thought to himself that he was glad he was
there. Whatever purpose her enemies had, he alone was on her side, he
alone could do something to save her.

It was now long past midnight, but not pitch dark either on deck or on
the sea. The electric lights had gone out long before, but lanterns
had been swung here and there from the deck fixtures. As Jimmy came
up, he thought the men were preparing to lower the boats, but when he
asked about it in his difficult French, the sailor shook his head.
There were more people about than he supposed the yacht carried:
several seamen, three or four other men, and a fat woman sitting
apathetically on a pile of rope. He went from group to group, and from
end to end of the yacht, looking for one woman's face and figure. He
saw Monsieur Chatelard, examining one of the boats. He ran down the
saloon stairway, determined to search the cabins