walked forward. As he did so the group of sailor-men dissolved and each one hurried about some self-appointed task. He walked over to a man who was coiling a rope. "I say, my man," he said, "are you from New York?" "Yes, sir," said the man, but he looked over his shoulder to right and left as though seeking a mode of escape. "Did you ever happen to drink any of Geltman's beer?" The man gave the brewer one fleeting look, then dropped his coil and disappeared down the fo'c's'le hatch. The brewer watched the retreating figure with some dismay. He walked toward another man who was shining some bright work around the galley stovepipe. But the man saw him coming and vanished as the other had done. An old man with a gray beard sat on a ditty box at the lee rail, sewing a pair of breeches. He was chewing tobacco and scowling, but did not move as the landsman approached. "I say, my man," began the brewer again, "did you ever drink any of Geltman's beer?" The old man eyed him from head to foot before he answered. But there was no fear in his face--only pity--naked and undisguised. "Naw," he replied, spitting to leeward. "There ain't no beer in N' York fer me but Otto Fehrenbach's." Geltman looked at him a moment and then turned despairingly aft. The yacht was bewitched and they were all bewitched with her. CHAPTER III "It's lucky Ollie Farquhar's fat," said Mortimer Crabb when Geltman was out of earshot. "It was neat, Jepson, beautifully neat. Did you ever see fish take the bait better? But he'll be coming to in a minute." Captain Jepson was watching the bewildered brewer. "He won't get much information there," he grinned. "It can't last much longer, though," said Crabb. "How much of a run is it to the coast?" "About an hour, sir." "Well, keep her on her course until eight bells. Then if he insists we'll run in and land him on the beach somewhere." "Aye, aye, sir." "It will soon be over now. He can't get in until to-morrow and then"--Crabb beamed with satisfaction--"and then it'll be too late. Stow your smile, Jepson. He's coming back." Not even this complete chain of circumstantial evidence could long avail against the brisk air and sunlight. In the broad expanse between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand Geltman noted the blue of some youthful tattooing. As he saw the familiar letters doubt took flight. He _was_ himself. There was no doubt of that. As he went aft again he smiled triumphantly. "Let's be done with nonsense, Dr. Woolf," he growled. "Look at that," holding his hand before Crabb's eyes. "If I'm Otto Fehrenbach how is it that the letters C. G. are marked in my hand?" Crabb, his arms akimbo, stood looking him steadily in the eyes. "So," he said calmly, "you're awake at last!" He looked at Crabb and the Captain with eyes which saw not. What he had thought of saying and doing remained unsaid and undone. With no other word he lurched heavily forward and down the companion.