"There'll be a hurricane in that quarter, Jepson, or I'm not weather wise," laughed Crabb. "We'd better run in now. There isn't much sea and the wind is offshore. We'll land him at Quogue or Westhampton. In the meanwhile, keep the tarpaulin over the for'ard boat so that he can't see the name on her. We'll use the gig. If he tries to peep over the stern we'll clap him in the stateroom. It will mean five years at least for me if he learns the name of the _Blue Wing_. So look sharp, Jepson, and keep an eye on him." "Never fear," said the Captain with a grin, and walked forward. Crabb walked the deck in high jubilation. He looked at his watch. Three o'clock! If McFee had followed his instructions Dicky Bowles and Juliet Hazard were man and wife. He had nicely figured his chances. To Geltman he was Dr. Woolf. To his crew he was Mr. Crabb taking an unfortunate relative for an airing; to Dicky Bowles he was the rescuer of forlorn damsels and the trump of good fellows. Crabb was fully prepared to carry the villainy through to the end. Of one thing he was certain, the sooner his guest was off the _Blue Wing_ and safely landed the better. And so, when at last Geltman came on deck with the watchful Weckerly at his heels, Crabb noted the chastened expression upon the brewer's face with singular satisfaction. "I'll go ashore, if you please," he said, quietly. Crabb affected disappointed surprise. "Here? Now?" he said. "We're pretty far down the coast. That's Quogue in there. I can't very well run back to New York, but----" "Put me ashore, sir," said Geltman sulkily. When the gig was lowered, Crabb bowed the brewer over the side, his evening clothes tied in a paper package. "Good-by," said Crabb. "When you're done with the flannels, Mr. Geltman, send 'em to Fehrenbach." But Geltman had no reply. He had folded his arms and was gazing stolidly toward the shore. The last glimpse Crabb had of him was when the _Blue Wing_ drew offshore leaving him gesticulating wildly upon the beach in the glow of the setting sun. When the figure was but a speck in the distance Mortimer Crabb turned away and threw himself wearily in his wicker chair. "Where to now, sir?" asked Jepson. "Oh, anywhere you like." "Sandy Hook, sir?" "Oh, yes," he sighed, "as well go there as anywhere else. New York, Jepson." * * * * * Poor Crabb! In twenty-four hours he was, if anything, more bored than ever. The sight of the joyous faces of Dicky Bowles and his bride had done something to relieve the _tedium vitæ_, but he knew that their joy was of themselves and not of him, and so he gave them a "God bless you" and his country place on Long Island for a few weeks of honeymooning. He had even had the presumption to offer them the _Blue Wing_, but Dicky, whose new responsibilities had developed a vein of prudence, refused point blank. Crabb shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourselves," he laughed. "It's yours if you want it."