The man lifted his hand and with trembling finger—he seemed unable to speak—pointed to the bay. Wallion pushed him away.
"To the beach," he said with a frown. "A boat! Aha, what is that? Over there?"
As soon as they passed the corner of the untenanted hotel they obtained an open view over the smooth water of the bay. Outside the breakwater lay a large pleasure yacht, painted white, with steam up.
"What sort of a boat is that?" asked Wallion sharply.
"That ... that is Mr. Dixon's steam yacht 'Ariadne,'" the man answered dejectedly.
Wallion looked at Tom. Both immediately grasped the situation. Wallion let go the man's arms and pointed to the house.
"Go in there and don't stick even the tip of your nose out of the door."
The man disappeared in the direction of the hotel, and he did not notice that he had lost his slippers on the way; the treatment he had received from Wallion had rather dazed him.
Wallion and Tom cast wistful eyes upon the pleasure yacht which lay proudly on the dark, gleaming water, smoke issuing from the yellow funnel ... She was evidently ready to start.
"I suppose they are on board already," said Wallion huskily. "Confound it all!"