For the moon had jumped out from behind its cloud like a cuckoo in a clock, and fallen full upon the drifting boat, now hardly fifty yards away. In the bottom of it lay a man, sprawled over his useless oars, his upturned face very white in the moonlight, limp legs huddled under him anyhow. Something in the abandon of his position suggested that he would not get up any more. CHAPTER IV WHICH CONCERNS POLITICS AND OTHER LOCAL MATTERS It was an odd sight against the setting of pretty night and light, idle talk. Peter's lip tightened. "He's dead, poor chap!" he said, in a low voice. "Murdered." "So it seems. We can't be sure from here, though. Where's that watch? Here--some of you! Lower away the dinghy! Get a move!" The boats were on their hooks, swung outboard ready for instant use. The crew, tumbling out swiftly at the call, cleared away one and let it fall over the side. The young men went down with it, Peter seizing the oars as his by right. The floating boat with its strange cargo had drifted close and was now lost in the vast black shadow of the yacht. "Where is it?" "I can't--Yes! There it is. Straight back. Now a little to the right. Way enough!" Varney, in the stern, leaned out and gripped the drifting gunwale securely. But it was so dark here that he could see almost nothing. "He's breathing, I think," he said, his hand against the strange man's chest. "Pull out into the light." But just then the arm that lay under the still head unmistakably twitched. "Good!" cried Peter and laughed a little. "Strike a match and let's have a look at him." Varney fumbled in his pockets, found one and scratched it on the side. Shielding the flame in his curved hand, he leaned forward and held it close to that motionless face. It was a young face, pale and rather haggard, lined about the mouth and yellow about the eyes; the face of a clever but broken gentleman. Full of contrasts and a story as it was, it would have been a striking face at any time; and to the two peering men in the _Cypriani's_ boat, it was now very striking indeed. For they saw immediately that the curious eyes were half open and were fixed full upon them. The match burned Varney's fingers, went out and dropped into the water. He said nothing. Neither did Peter. The man in the boat did not stir. So went by a second of profound stillness. Then a somewhat blurred voice said: "When a gentleman goes rowing--in a private boat--and is raided by a pair of unknown investigators--one of them wearing a Mother Hubbard-- who strike matches in his face and make personal remarks--he naturally awaits their explanations." The speech fell upon four of the most astonished ears in the State of New York. Peter recovered first: the remark about the Mother Hubbard had stung him a little, even in that dumfounded moment, but he only laughed. "The fact is, we made absolutely sure that you were a corpse. Our mistake."