"All night, and all day to-morrow," replied Mr. Trimmer, "if necessary. We're going to stay here until that boat that's carrying Lord Harrowby comes back. You can't fool Henry Trimmer." "There isn't any such boat!" flared Martin Wall. "Tell it to the marines," remarked Trimmer, lighting a fresh cigar. Just as well that the three shivering figures huddled in the launch on the heaving bosom of the waters could not see this picture. Mr. Wall looked out at the rain, and shivered himself. Eleven-thirty came. And twelve. Two matches from Mr. Paddock's store went to the discovery of these sad facts. Soaked to the skin, glum, silent, the three on the waters sat staring at the unresponsive _Lileth_. The rain was falling now in a fine drizzle. "I suppose," Paddock remarked, "we stay here until morning?" "We might try landing on Tarragona," said Minot. "We might try jumping into the ocean, too," responded Paddock, through chattering teeth. "Murder," droned poor old George. "That's what it'll be." At one o'clock the three wet watchers beheld unusual things. Smoke began to belch from the _Lileth's_ funnels. Her siren sounded. "She's steaming out!" cried Minot. "She's steaming out to sea!" And sure enough, the graceful yacht began to move--out past Tarragona Island--out toward the open sea. Once more Paddock started his faithful engine, and, hallooing madly, the three set out in pursuit. Not yet had the _Lileth_ struck its gait, and in fifteen minutes they were alongside. Martin Wall, beholding them from the deck, had a rather unexpected attack of pity, and stopped his engines. The three limp watchers were taken aboard. "Wha--what does this mean?" chattered Minot. "You poor devils," said Martin Wall. "Come and have a drink. Mean?" He poured. "It means that the only way I could get rid of our friend Trimmer was to set out for New York." "For New York?" cried Minot, standing glass in hand. "Yes. Came on board, Trimmer did, searched the boat, and then declared I'd shipped George away until his visit should be over. So he and his friends--one of them the chief of police, by the way--sat down to wait for your return. Gad--I thought of you out in that rain. Sat and sat and sat. What could I do?" "To Trimmer, the brute," said Paddock, raising his glass. "Finally I had an idea. I had the boys pull up anchor and start the engines. Trimmer wanted to know the answer. 'Leaving for New York to-night,' I said. 'Want to come along?' He wasn't sure whether he would go or not, but his friends were sure they wouldn't. Put up an awful howl, and just before we got under way Mr. Trimmer and party crawled into their rowboat and splashed back to San Marco." "Well--what now?" asked Minot. "I've made up my mind," said Wall. "Been intending to go back north for some time, and now that I've started, I guess I'll keep on going." "Splendid," cried Minot. "And you'll take Mr. George Harrowby with you?"