Having reached the cliff summit, the little party had full view of the wreck. In reality it was not a wreck at all: the steamer lay easily on the sand to the west of Graveyard Point, solidly wedged and in no apparent danger. After one long contemplation of the ship and a brief glance at the bright sky, the veteran Johnston delivered himself of his opinion: “Captain drunk. Mate drunk. Lookout blind drunk. Crew rum-soaked. Cook boiled, and ship’s cat paralysed. It’s the only way they could’a’ got her ashore a night like this. And they’re as safe with this wind as if they were in dry-dock.” He went down to the beach to join the coastguards, whose surf-boat was just returning from the ship, and presently brought the report back to his party in the triumph of corroboration. “Guess I was about right, except as to the cat,” he said. “They ain’t got any cat aboard; it’s a parrot. We might as well go along home.” Before the little party had covered one-third of the distance, Dick Colton, profiting by Johnston’s momentary engagement of Professor Ravenden’s attention, moved over to Dolly. “I don’t know what you will think of me,” he began in a low tone. “I never meant to. It was a moment’s overwhelming folly. Will you forgive me?” Seemingly the girl paid no attention. Her gaze was fixed on a knoll which rose in front of them. “Dolly,” implored the young man, “don’t think too harshly of me for a moment’s rashness.” “Look!” said the girl. “Did you see that?” “Where? What was it?” “On that hill almost in front of us. What is a man doing there at this time?” “The juggler!” exclaimed Dick. “Yes, I think it was. There! See him moving just under the brow?” A dark figure travelling low and swift, as of a man doubled over, could be discerned faintly against the waving grasses to the north. A moment more and it disappeared. The landscape which they overlooked was one of the most broken stretches on all Montauk. It was like an Indian-mound burial-place hugely magnified, with thick patches of vegetation scattered between the mounds. Despite the difficulties of the situation, Dick’s mind was made up at once. They must capture the juggler. “Ev! Professor! Mr. Johnston!” he called. The others hurried to him; there was no mistaking the anxiety in his voice. “Miss Ravenden has just seen a man coming toward us over the downs,” he explained rapidly. “I think it is the juggler. We must get him. Which of you have pistols?” “Just my luck! I left mine home,” groaned Everard. “Although I have no firearms, the loaded butt of my capturing net is not a despicable weapon,” said Professor Ravenden, brandishing it scientifically. Johnston produced a revolver. His own weapon Dick handed to Professor Ravenden, saying: