Peter nailed the alternative. "If he doesn't, the _Gazette_ will attend to the job, anyway." "Yes, the press is on our trail, in any case. The fact that this is the Carstairs yacht will mean more to the _Gazette_ than it could to the _Daily_. It will be a kind of connecting link for them. Of course, they'll jump at it like wildfire. If they can make anything at all out of it, they'll play it up to-morrow so that nobody in this town can possibly miss seeing it." "Pray heaven," said Peter, referring to Mary Carstairs, "that she won't see the _Daily_ this morning!" "Yes. Her father's name would naturally start her to thinking, which would make things awkward." "Larry, the _Gazette_ is going to print his name to-morrow morning as sure as Smith is a lying sneak." "We've still got to-day, haven't we? By Jove, it's nearly eleven already. A reporter may be down on us at almost any minute. We can't stand being cross-examined. No searchlight of journalism playing about on the _Cypriani_ just now, thank you. My own idea is--" "To grab him, to batter the face off him--" "No, to elude him. Not to be here. In short, to run away." "_What?_ You can't mean that you are going to let that dog drive you back to New York?" "Well, hardly. But I do mean to make him think he has! I mean to run down the river a few miles and anchor where they can't find us, simply to get out of the way. Then we'll run back to-morrow in time for the luncheon. What do you think of that?" Peter, his forehead rumpled like a corduroy road, stared at him fixedly and thought it over. "I think it's the best thing in sight," he said judicially. "An exceedingly neat little idea." "If we're being watched, it may persuade them that we've gone. Anyway, it will give us time to decide what next," said Varney. And he hurried off to confer with the sailing-master. Presently the engine-room bell rang out a signal. Orders were given and repeated above and below. Men began moving about swiftly. The noise of coal scraped hurriedly out of bunkers smote the air. The _Cypriani's_ hold throbbed with sudden life. Varney, running hastily through the two newspaper stories again to make sure that they had missed nothing that might be important to them, was presently joined by Peter, who was looking at his watch every third minute and swearing softly every time he looked. Something had been discovered amiss with the machinery, it seemed. The captain was sure he would have the plaguy thing all right in another half-hour, but you never could tell. For his part he'd swear that a yacht was worse than an old-style motor car: you could absolutely count on her to be out of order at any moment when you positively had to have her.