been left unheeded. As
far as Francesco and I could ascertain, nothing whatever had been taken.
Therefore, we re-arranged the papers, re-locked the safe and resolved
not to telegraph to Hutcheson and unduly disturb him, as in a few days
he would return from England, and there would be time enough then to
explain the remarkable story.

One fact, however, we established. The detective on duty at the railway
station distinctly recollected a thin middle-aged man, accompanied by a
lady in deep black, passing the barrier and entering the train which
left at three o'clock for Colle Salvetti to join the Rome express. They
were foreigners, therefore he did not take the same notice of them as
though they had been Italians. Inquiries at the booking-office showed,
however, that no passengers had booked direct to Rome by the train in
question. To Grossetto, Cecina, Campiglia, and the other places in the
Maremma, passengers had taken tickets, but not one had been booked to
any of the great towns. Therefore it was apparent that the mysterious
pair who had come ashore just prior to the sailing of the yacht had
merely taken tickets for a false destination, and had re-booked at Colle
Salvetti, the junction with that long main line which connects Genoa
with Rome.

The police were puzzled. The two fishermen who sighted the _Lola_ and
first gave the alarm of her danger, declared that when they drew
alongside and proffered assistance the captain threatened to shoot the
first man who came aboard.

"They were English!" remarked the sturdy, brown-faced toilers of the
sea, grinning knowingly. "And the English, when they drink their cognac,
know not what they do."

"Did you get any reward for returning to harbor and reporting?" I
asked.

"Reward!" echoed one of the men, the elder of the pair. "Not a soldo!
The English only cursed us for interfering. That is why we believed that
they were trying to make away with the vessel."

The description of the _Lola_, its owner, his guest, and the captain
were circulated by the police to all the Mediterranean ports, with a
request that the yacht should be detained. Yet if the vessel were really
one of mystery, as it seemed to be, its owner would no doubt go across
to some quiet anchorage on the Algerian coast out of the track of the
vessels, and calmly proceed to repaint, rename and disguise his craft so
that it would not be recognized in Marseilles, Naples, Smyrna, or any of
the ports where private