This time was an exception, at any rate, and, in fact, for the remainder of the round he played worse than before, if that were possible. But he was perfectly satisfied with himself, and talked nothing but golf as we walked back, until we were close to the hotel, when he stopped suddenly. "Queer chap, that, on the green." "Very." "Do you think he came from the yacht?" "I was wondering whether he hadn't escaped from an asylum," I answered. "I wonder what he was doing on the green," Quarles went on. "I saw no one else playing this afternoon, so he had the green to himself, except for the little time we disturbed him. When I first saw him it didn't seem to me that he was practicing putting, and I thought he watched us rather curiously." "A theory, professor?" I asked with a smile. "No, no; just wonder. By the way, don't say anything to that expert who was so certain that the yacht couldn't get into the creek. He mightn't like to know he was mistaken." After dinner that evening Zena and I went out. There was no moon; indeed, it was not very pleasant weather, but it was a pleasant walk, and entirely to my satisfaction. When we returned I found Quarles in a corner of the smoking room leaning back in an armchair with his eyes closed. He looked up suddenly as I approached him. "Cold out?" he asked. "Nothing to speak of." "Feel inclined to go a little way with me now?" "Certainly." "Good! Say in a quarter of an hour's time. I shall get out of this dress and put on some warmer clothes. I should advise you to do the same." I took his advice, and I was not surprised when he turned to me as soon as we had left the hotel and said: "That yacht, Wigan; we'll go and have a look at her." "It's too dark to see her." "She may show a light," he chuckled. "Anyway, we will go and have a look." We started along the front in the direction of the golf course, but at the end of the parade, instead of turning inland as I expected, to cross the course to the creek, Quarles led the way on to the sands. Here was a favorite bathing place, and there were many small tents nestling under the sandhills, looking a little the worse for last night's gale. At this hour the spot was quite deserted. "Getting toward high water," said the professor, "and a smooth sea to-night. Can you row, Wigan?" "An oarsman would probably say I couldn't," I answered. "There's a stout little boat hereabouts--takes swimmers out for a dive into deep water. We'll borrow it, and see what you can do." Always there was something in Quarles's way of going to work which had the effect of giving one a thrill, of stringing up the nerves, and making one eager to know all that was in his mind. You were satisfied there was something more to learn, and felt it would be worth learning. I asked no questions now as I helped to push a good-sized dinghy into the water. Oars were in it, and a coil of rope.