s his mother, almost in hysterics," says Mr. Robert, "and his
sweetheart. Think of the suspense, the mental strain they must be under.
If we can find Penrhyn we must do so as quickly as possible. Let's go
back to the office and look up train connections."

Well, if we'd started half an hour earlier we'd been all right. As it
was we could hang up all night at some dinky junction or wait over until
next morning. Neither suited Mr. Robert. He 'phones for his tourin' car
and decides to motor down into Jersey. Also he has a kit bag packed for
two of us and collects from Nimms a full outfit of daylight clothes for
Penryhn.

We got away about five o'clock and as Mr. Robert figures by the Blue
Book that we have only a hundred and some odd miles to run he thinks we
ought to make some place near Barnegat Light by nine o'clock. Maybe we
would have, too, if we'd caught the Staten Island ferries right at both
ends, and hadn't had two blow-outs and strayed off the road once. As it
is we finally lands at little joint that shows on the map as Forked
River about 1 a.m. There wasn't a light in the whole place and it took
us half an hour to pry the landlord of the hotel out of the feathers.
No, he couldn't tell us where we could get a boat to take us out to High
Bar at that time of night. It wasn't being done. Folks didn't go there
often anyway, and when they did they started after breakfast.

"It'll be there in the morning, you know," says he.

"That's so," says Mr. Robert. "Have a motor boat ready at nine o'clock.
Not much use getting there before 10:30. Penrhyn wouldn't be up."

That sounded sensible to me. When I go huntin' for lost dramatists I
like to take it easy and be braced up for the day with a good shot of
ham and eggs. This part of the program was carried out smooth. And it's
a nice little sail across old Barnegat Bay with the oyster fleet busy
and the fishin' boats dotted around. But the native who piloted us out
was doubtful about anybody's being on High Bar.

"I seen some parties shootin' around on Love Ladies yesterday," says he,
"an' a couple more was snipin' on Sea Dog, but I didn't hear nary gun
let off on th' Bar."

"Oh, my friend doesn't shoot, anyway," says Mr. Robert.

"Ain't nothin' else for him to do on High Bar," says the native, "less'n
he wants to collect skeeter bites."

When we got close enough to see the island I begun to suspicion I'd
missed out on my hunch, for there ain't a soul in sight. We cou