Nick Carter stood in deep thought for several minutes. After discarding the possibility of Drago having been spirited away in a motor car, for the simple reason that the only approach to the sea path, which the missing man had taken, was by way of the links, where a machine must have been seen, the detective sought another explanation.
“There are two ways in which it might be done,â€� he mused. “A man might be waylaid in the shelter of the woods and carried through them to the main road. Another way—and perhaps the most likely—would be by the sea. You can’t see the beach from here on account of the rocks. A boat could sneak up and get away without being seen by any one on shore.â€�
It seemed to Nick that either of these two methods must have been employed, and he was trying to settle in his own mind which one was the more likely, when his gaze fell upon the yacht out in the bay.
He had noticed it many times before. But now it took on a new significance in the light of the theory he had formed with regard to Harvey L. Drago’s disappearance.
“What’s that yacht doing out there?� he muttered. “Who is her owner? Any one living in the hotel? That seems likely, although she was there when I came here, day before yesterday. I don’t remember to have seen any[Pg 12] communication with her from the shore. She may only have put in there for shelter, or repairs.�
The detective was a yachtsman himself, and took a deep interest in all kinds of craft. Dropping behind a bush and lying almost at full length, he trained his field glasses on the yacht.
With the eye of a sailor, as well as of a keen investigator, he studied the graceful vessel thoroughly from bow to stern, and from water line to the tops of tapering masts and white smokestack.
“She looks familiar to me in a general way,� he reflected. “There is something about her general lines that I seem to recognize. But I can’t identify her as any boat I know. I’ll ask at the hotel. Somebody there may know something about her. Of course, it is not remarkable for a pleasure boat to be anchored in a beautiful bay like this. Still, no harm will be done by my asking.�
He got up and climbed slowly to the little eminence whereon he had stood before, as a new idea came to him. Having reached the top of the small, spreading hill, he dropped flat upon the ground, the field glasses in his fingers.
“If I am not mistaken,â€� was his inward remark, “I can see the hotel well from here with the glasses. I’ll take a squint at that little cove under the windows of the room occupied by the baroness. From here it looks as if they must be nearly in line with the yacht. That may not mean anything—but then, again, it may.â€�