She nodded decisively. “By all means,” she said. “It’s the only one we have. Send the Arrow inshore, will you, Tom, on a long slant?”
Once more the engine took up its racing speed, as the boat bore down on the shore. As we went in, we changed the questions, and asked the few boats we met if they had picked up a man. At last we saw a catboat just sailing out of a little bay, and bore down on it. A man and a boy sat in the stern. As I shouted my question once more, the man jumped up.
“Yes, we picked one up.”
“Where is he?” I shouted.
“At my house, but he’s crazy,” replied the man.
“Can we get in there with the yacht?”
“No, but I can take you in,” he answered, and it was but a moment’s work to lower a boat from the davits. As I stepped to the side, Tom and Dorothy hurried up.
“We’re going, too,” Tom cried.
The launch bore us rapidly across to the catboat, and as we approached, I studied the faces of the man and the boy. They were simple folk, of evidently limited intelligence. Hardly had we come alongside, when I began my questions, and a strange story came in reply. Stripped of its vernacular and repetitions, this was the tale finally dragged from the man and boy, as we sailed towards the shore.