"I can't make it out, all the same," said Mortimer reflectively. "If there's no one on the island, how the devil did the boat get there? Old Quinn must have got off somehow last time he left." "Perhaps he's a Christian Scientist, and just wished himself ashore," suggested Tommy. "Anyhow, it's no good worrying about miracles. Catch on to this, and that's the lot." He pushed over a bulky case of soda-water, which Mortimer, still frowning thoughtfully to himself, tucked under one arm, and carrying the remaining stores between us, we made our way down to the dinghy. "I'll take the oars," I said; "it's just my distance." "Don't overtire yourself," put in Tommy kindly. "Remember there's a stiff stream running." "If you find it too much for you," added Mortimer, "we can always get out and walk." Disregarding such ragged efforts at humour, I pushed off from the bank; and then, setting a course well up against the current, slowly tugged my precious freight over to the island. With the true instinct of a waterman, I hit the landing-stage exactly, in fact, I hit it so hard that Tommy, who was injudiciously standing up, was as nearly as possible precipitated into the water. "He thinks it's a bumping race," said Mortimer. "That's the worst of these 'Varsity men. Here, catch hold." He flung the rope to Tommy, who had jumped out on to the step, and in half a minute the boat was hitched up tight to a convenient post. Mortimer and I handed out the goods, which Tommy received and piled up on the shore. When we were finally unloaded we also disembarked, and picking up as much as we could carry, mounted the wooden steps that led to the front door of the bungalow. Tommy inserted the key, and flung it open. "Here we are," he said. "Not such a dusty sort of shanty, is it?" The eulogy was by no means excessive. Whatever else Mr. Quinn may have lacked, he certainly had a nice eye for his surroundings. The large, low-ceilinged apartment, with its white walls, old-fashioned furniture, and big, green-tiled hearth, combined in the happiest degree the claims of comfort and good taste. From the main room a door on the left led into the kitchen, while at the back an arched space gave access to a passage from which the three bedrooms opened off. "What's the programme now?" asked Mortimer. "I don't know what you chaps feel like," said Tommy, "but I'm uncommon hungry. I vote we start by having some grub right away." Mortimer held up his hand. "Carried unanimously," I said. "Right-ho!" responded Tommy. "There's a cold chicken somewhere in the baggage. You chaps might unpack while I forage about the kitchen and get things ready."