"A month ago," said Tom Horn. "They manned yonder vessel for no other purpose than to pick and search along the coast. This shoal was one they had well in the front of their minds. And the hulk they hope to sight is that of the _Rufus Stevens_." All three stood looking out at the vessel across the flattened line of surf. "What men are aboard her?" asked Anthony. "Those whom you have in your mind," said the clerk. "They could be no other." Anthony continued to hold the brig with his eye; his mind was dark and active, and anger was lifting in it. "Mademoiselle desired that word be brought you," said Christopher to the young man. "Of this?" said Anthony, and he pointed to the vessel. "Oh, no. She knows nothing of either the brig or her business," said the little apothecary. "Her message is more urgent than that. It will open your eyes," prophesied Christopher, confidently. He took a letter from his pocket and gave it to Anthony. "But let us go where you can read it quietly," said he. "And afterwards we can talk; for you'll have many questions to ask, I know, and Tom Horn will have a deal of answering to do to satisfy you." So they descended the dune; a brace of candles were lighted in the cabin, and the three sat down at the table. Anthony read mademoiselle's letter; his muscles grew tight and his blood began to race; he read it once more, then quietly placed it upon the table and, looking at Tom Horn, said: "Tell me what you have told her." The clerk once more stated his beliefs, and his reasons for holding to them; Christopher added those details which escaped the other; Anthony listened, and his eyes glowed; a slow smile crept to the corners of his mouth, but got no farther. "Safe!" said he, when the man had done. "Safe, with the cargo unharmed; lying quiet and waiting." "Yes," said Tom Horn. "And you can point the nose of a vessel toward this strange sea?" "I would engage to put you alongside the ship itself," said Tom Horn. Anthony's eyes narrowed. These were high words, and he was one to be moved little by sounds, no matter how brave. But Tom Horn was peculiar. Inside that odd exterior, a wisdom worked which was not common. Tom Horn, alone, of all who felt the burrowing under Rufus Stevens' Sons, had pointed out the runways of the rats. He had said strange things; and facts had sprung up to bear him out. There was a long silence; and then Anthony said: "A vessel to make the search! How is one to be had?" Thrilled, Christopher leaned across the table. "Mademoiselle bade me say," said he, "that she'll be waiting and will have a ship at her call." Anthony looked at the little apothecary; then the smile crept forward from the corners of his mouth, and his lips parted in a laugh.