"We might try landing on Tarragona," said Minot.
"We might try jumping into the ocean, too," responded Paddock, through chattering teeth.
"Murder," droned poor old George. "That's what it'll be."
At one o'clock the three wet watchers beheld unusual things. Smoke began to belch from the Lileth's funnels. Her siren sounded.
"She's steaming out!" cried Minot. "She's steaming out to sea!"
And sure enough, the graceful yacht began to move—out past Tarragona Island—out toward the open sea.
Once more Paddock started his faithful engine, and, hallooing madly, the three set out in pursuit. Not yet had the Lileth struck its gait, and in fifteen minutes they were alongside. Martin Wall, beholding them from the deck, had a rather unexpected attack of pity, and stopped his engines. The three limp watchers were taken aboard.
"Wha—what does this mean?" chattered Minot.
"You poor devils," said Martin Wall. "Come and have a drink. Mean?" He poured. "It means that the only way I could get rid of our friend Trimmer was to set out for New York."
"For New York?" cried Minot, standing glass in hand.