He rushed out on deck again, peering, following his course to the rail. That was no use, either. The papers were gone; he had lost them, or somebody had taken them. What a foolish boy he had been! XII CALIFORNIA HO! What a foolish, foolish boy! How could he tell his father, and Mr. Grigsby? Maybe, though, he could find the papers, and then he would not have to tell. The scheme tempted him, but he decided that it was cowardliness. He had done the thing, and now he was afraid to accept the consequences. Huh! This was not playing fair with his partners. Besides, the longer he waited, the worse he made it for them and himself too. So he soberly dressed; then he went out, this time carefully locking the door behind him, which of course was rather late in the game. The boat containing his father and Mr. Grigsby was at the ship, and they two came up the side. They were laden with stuff that they had bought ashore. "Hello, Charley," greeted his father, cheerfully. "Had a good time? Phew, but it was hot on shore! You didn't miss much. Lend a hand, will you, and help us carry this truck into the cabin?" "You must have been in the water," remarked Mr. Grigsby, keenly noting Charley's wet, salty hair. Charley tried to smile, but it came hard. He picked up an armful of cocoanuts, and followed his partners to the cabin. They waited at the door for him. "Got it locked, I see," quoth his father. "That's right. I told Grigsby we could depend on you." They dumped the spoils in the cabin. Up to this time Charley had said scarcely a word. "What's the matter, boy?" queried his father. "Didn't you have a good time? Aren't you feeling well?" "I've lost the papers," blurted Charley, wanting to cry. [Illustration: "I've lost the papers"] "What?" His father and Mr. Grigsby stared at him. "You don't mean it!" "Yes. I lost them, or somebody took them." And Charley did begin to cry. "I went in swimming and left my shoes in the cabin. And when I came back the papers were gone. Boo-hoo." "Pshaw!" muttered Mr. Grigsby. "Well, don't cry about it," spoke his father, sharply. "Brace up, and tell us about it." Charley did. "You're sure they aren't around the cabin somewhere?" "I looked. I'll look again, though." They all poked about, to no result. "Did you look on deck, where you were?" "Yes, sir." "Did you lock the cabin door when you went out?" "I _think_ I did," answered Charley, honestly. "I meant to." "But you aren't certain?" "N--no; not exactly." "Anybody could pick the lock, I suppose," said Mr. Grigsby, from under his bushy brows. "The thing looks to me like a put-up job. Who was the man that urged you to jump over?" "I don't know. I'd never seen him before." "Well, describe him," bade Mr. Adams. Charley described him as best he could--a medium sized man in white linen suit, with iron-gray hair and short beard iron-gray to match. "What color eyes?"