when Aleck plumped into him and shook him by the shoulders.

"He's asleep--like a baby!" he reiterated. And Chamberlain, wise
comrade, took Aleck by the arm and tramped him off over the hill to
settle his nerves. They walked for an hour arm in arm over the road
that lay like a gray ribbon before them in the night, winding up
slantwise along the rugged country.

Dawn was awake on the hills a mile away, and by and by Aleck found
tongue to tell the story of the night, which was good for him. He
talked fast and unevenly, and even extravagantly. Chamberlain listened
and loved his friend in a sympathy that spoke for itself, though his
words were commonplace enough. By the time they had circled the
five-mile road and were near the house again, Aleck was something like
himself, though still unusually excited. Chamberlain mentioned
casually that Miss Reynier had been anxious about him, and that all his
friends at the big hotel had worried. Finally, he, Chamberlain, had
set out for the old red house, thinking he could possibly be of
service; in any case glad to be near his friend.

"And, by the way," Chamberlain added; "you may be interested to hear
that accidentally I got on the track of that beggar who ate the
hermit's eggs. Took a tramp this morning, and found him held up at a
kind of sailor's inn, waiting for money. Grouchy old party; no wonder
his men shipped him."

Aleck at first took but feeble interest in Chamberlain's discoveries;
he was still far from being his precise, judicial self. He let
Chamberlain talk on, scarcely noticing what he said, until suddenly the
identity of the man whom Chamberlain was describing came home to him.
Agatha's story flashed back in his memory. He stopped short in his
tracks, halting his companion with a stretched-out forefinger.

"Look here, Chamberlain," he said, "I've been half loony and didn't
take in what you said. If that's the owner or proprietor of the
_Jeanne D'Arc_--a man known as Monsieur Chatelard, French accent,
blond, above medium size, prominent white teeth--we want him right
away. He kidnapped Miss Redmond in New York, and I shouldn't wonder if
he kidnapped old Jim and stole the yacht besides. He's a bad one."

Mr. Chamberlain had the air of humoring a lunatic. "Well, what's to be
done? Is it a case for the law? Is there any evidence to be had?"

"Law! Evidence!" cried Aleck. "I should think so. You go to Big
Simon, Chamberlain, and find out who's