"The son?"
"Took after his father, only he hadn't any beard; a fine upstanding pair."
"And no trace was ever found of them?"
"Not a stick nor a shred."
"But about this Visitors' Book? You'll swear they took it with them?
See, there's not a stain of salt-water upon it."
"No, there isn't; but I'll swear young Mr. Blake had it in his hand as he went from my door."
I said, "Mr. Job, I've kept you already too long from your dinner. Go and eat, and ask them to send in something for me. Afterwards, I want you to come with me and take a look at my yacht, that is lying just outside the haven."
As we started from the shore Mr. Job, casting his eyes over the Siren, remarked, "That's a very pretty yawl of yours, sir." As we drew nearer, he began to eye her uneasily.
"She has been lengthened some five or six feet," I said; "she was a cutter to begin with."
"Lord help us!" then said Mr. Job, in a hoarse whisper. "She's the Queen of Sheba. I'd swear to her run anywhere—ay, or to that queer angle of her hawse-holes."