I happened to glance at Agatha as I made this observation, and noticed that she paled a little and let her hands fall in her lap, and after a few moments she got up and entered the house, leaving Mr. Poyntz and me to ourselves. I fancied--but I may have been mistaken--that as she passed the threshold she laid her finger upon the pearl-shell necklace. "Miss Agatha doesn't like to hear of wrecks," I remarked after a pause. "Why no, sir," said Poyntz slowly, his blue eyes fixed upon the surf-whitened reef; "and perhaps 'tis natural she should not--specially those wrecks that the Devil's Ribs is to blame for." "Has that necklace of hers anything to do with it?" I asked--though I cannot tell what possessed me to put so inconsequent a question. Partly to justify myself, I added: "It looks as if it might have been washed up out of the sea." Poyntz threw a sharp look at me out of the corner of his weather-eye. "Ye've noticed the necklace, have ye?" said he; "and ye've a quick wit of your own, as they say is the way with lawyers. Howbeit, I think Jack Poyntz knows an honest man when he sights him, and hoping ye'll excuse the freedom, sir, methinks you are one. Now there's a bit of a yarn I'd like to spin ye--you being beknown amongst the great gentlefolks down to New York and elsewhere--about a wreck that once was on the Devil's Ribs. Maybe some of those you do business for can throw light upon it like; for what the ship was that was wrecked, or whence she sailed, was never known; for only that necklace that Agatha wears--only that and--something else, ever came to land. Ye guessed right, sir, d'ye see, and in hopes of your guessing yet more, I'll spin ye the yarn, leastways if ye've no objection. But afore starting, if ye'll kindly allow me, sir, I'll load my pipe, for with me the words come ever easier when there's smoke behind 'em." I said nothing, but Poyntz saw well enough that I was very much interested, and, like all incorrigible yarn-spinners, he found a humorous pleasure in prolonging his hearer's suspense. It was five minutes before his pipe was cleaned out, refilled, and lighted to his satisfaction, and then, having spread out his great arms along the back of the bench, stretched his mighty legs in front of him, and fixed his gaze upon the lighthouse--his favourite yarn-spinning attitude--he appeared to wait for an inspiration. "How long ago was it?" I asked at length, to set him going.