The coast had been rushing by us rapidly as we talked, and now the summer cottages and bathing beaches were giving way to longer stretches of bare sand and wooded inlets. I rose and looked forward.
“We may as well commence here,” I said, and we began systematic inquiry. Catboat and sloop tacking out on pleasure bent, tramp steamer ploughing heavily up the coast,—one after another, we came alongside and asked the same questions. “Have you seen a battleship to-day or yesterday? Have you seen or heard anything unusual?”
The answers came back in every vein. Brusque denials—ironical inquiries—would-be humorous sallies—courteous rejoinders—one and all had the same word. No battleship seen. Nothing unusual seen or heard. The morning had become noon, ere we were fairly on our quest. The afternoon wore on towards night, as it progressed. As the hours passed, I protested against my hosts giving up their yacht to my service, but quite in vain. They were as firmly resolved to pursue the quest to the end as I was myself.
About five o’clock, when we were some six or seven miles off the coast, came the first success. We hailed a schooner whose lookout replied negatively to our questions. As we passed slowly, we heard a sudden hail, as a gaunt man, the skipper, rushed to the side.
“Lookin’ for anything unusual, be ye?” he shouted. “I’ve seen one thing,—a catboat takin’ on a crazy man out of a knockabout.”
“Whereabouts?” I shouted.
“’Bout ten miles back, I reckon,” came the answer.
He knew no more than that, and the interchange over, I turned to Dorothy.
“Shall we run that clue down?” I asked.