They had had hardly time to down some coffee and eat some bacon when there came a report from the bow watch.
"Smoke to the north'ard, sir."
Breakfast was forgotten in a flash. Snatching up his binoculars, Ned sprang for the iron ladder. Herc was right at his heels.
On the northern horizon lay a smudge of black smoke. For some moments it was hard to make out whether it was receding or coming toward them. But presently Ned, with a cry of delight, announced that the stranger was coming due south.
Not long after, the strange craft swam into the field of vision of the binoculars. Herc happened to be holding them on her at that moment. He gave an exclamation of disgust.
"It's a yacht, all right, but not the right one."
"How do you know?"
"That description. I've got it by heart. Two masts, black funnel. This fellow's got three masts and a yellow stack."
"Let me have a look at her."