he frame of the mirror to pieces
to make sure that the shred of paper we wanted did not lie between the
glass and the boards behind.

At last I found our precious document. It was in the waste-paper basket
among some old bills, a torn letter, some half smoked cigarettes, and a
twisted copy of that afternoon's _Call_. Bothwell had thrust it down
among this junk because he shrewdly guessed a waste-paper basket the
last place one would likely look for a valuable chart.

To deprive him of it seemed a pity, so we merely made a copy of what we
wanted and left him the original buried again in the junk where he had
hidden it.

My watch showed that it was now between one and two o'clock. Since
Bothwell might now be back at any time we retired to Blythe's room and
_learned by heart_ the torn fragment of directions.

This did not take us long for there was nothing on the faded corner but
these letters and words:

wh
12
Take
Forked
till Tong of
west to Big Rock

In the milkman hours we slipped from the hotel and took a car for the
Graymount. My rooms were a sight. Some one--and I could put a name to
him--had devastated them as a cyclone does a town in the middle West.
The wreckage lay everywhere, tossed hither and thither as the searchers
had flung away the articles after an examination. Blythe laughed.

"The middle name of our friend Bothwell must be thorough. He hasn't
overlooked anything, by Jove."

"Oh, well, it's our inning anyhow," I grinned. "He didn't get what he
wanted, and we know it. We did get what we wanted, and he doesn't know
it." The Englishman flung himself down into a Morris chair and reached
for my cigarettes.

"On the whole I rather fancy our new profession, Jack. I wonder if
Captain Bothwell will send our photographs to the chief of police for
his rogues' gallery."

CHAPTER VII

IN THE FOG

The day before we sailed I spent an hour aboard the _Argos_ arranging my
things in my cabin. While returning in one of the yacht's boats I caught
sight through the fog of two figures standing on the wharf.

I had a momentary impression that one of these was our chief engineer,
George Fleming, but when I scrambled ashore only one of the two was in
sight. The one I had taken to be our engineer had sheered off into the
fog.

The outline of the other bulked large in the heavy mist, partly because
of the big overcoat, no doubt. I had a feeling that I ought to know the
man, b