Most of the men had finished eating. Cap’n Smiley got up and went to his desk. He picked up the papers that had been washed ashore with the body of the _Mermaid’s_ skipper. There were certain of the ship’s papers, a little memorandum book with no entries, and a personal letter. The ink had run badly on the soaked documents and the letter was illegible except for a few words. These were far apart and decipherable after much pains. “‘Only child ... return her ... precautions ... do not want my whereabouts ... so no message ... forgiveness’” puzzled out the keeper. From hand to hand the letter went to confirm these conjectural readings. The keeper scratched his head. His forehead showed little vertical lines. His blue eyes were thoughtful, and the wrinkles that converged at their corners, the result of much sea gazing, showed up like little furrows of light and shadow under the rays of the big oil lamp hanging overhead. The sense of so much as he had read was clear enough, but the story was woefully incomplete. What were a few words in a couple of sentences of a long letter? Four large sheets had been covered by that shaky and rather small handwriting; and for the fourteen words he could make out there were at least four hundred lost. Footfalls sounded on the boardwalk outside the door, not the steady tramp of Tom Lupton returning from the easterly stretch of the beach but lighter steps of someone running. The door opened quickly and Mrs. Biggles appeared among them, white and breathless. “Cap’n,” she panted. “There’s a stranger on the beach. My Henry hasn’t got back yet--he maybe’ll be staying over to Bellogue till morning. I heard a noise at a window and there was a man’s face. He disappeared quick. I was so frightened I couldn’t run and I couldn’t stay; so finally I run over here. ’Twasn’t any face I ever saw before. It’s--it’s a sailor like the one Henry took off. And--oh, have mercy on us!--they’re all drowned!” IV Cap’n Smiley, young Joe Sayre, and Jim Mapes went back with Mrs. Biggles. It was a clear night with many stars but the moon had not yet risen. The fresh, damp southeast wind was playing great chords upon the organ of the surf. Eight minutes’ tramping over the dunes brought the four persons to the Biggles house--a fisherman’s shack of two rooms, but tight and dry. The lamp’s glow came through window panes. After circling the house Cap’n Smiley moved to one of the windows. He came back immediately and said to the others with a low chuckle: “Whoever he is, he’s hungry. Mrs. Biggles, he’s eating your provender!” All fear left the bayman’s wife. With an exclamation she advanced before the others could restrain her. They followed her through the door in time to hear her exclaim: “You good-for-nothing, what are you doing eating my Henry’s cold samp porridge!” The man choked on a mouthful. Swiftly he rose and tried to slip by her. She gave him a heavy box on the head and the men at the door caught and held him.