With instinctive courtesy, every sailor on either boat removed his cap as she spoke, and the skipper gave answer in slow, deeply considered words. “No, we have seen no yacht except your own. Hein! is it not so?” he turned to the sailors. A chorus of affirmatives came back. There had been no other vessel off this point save the Virginie of their own town, (an expressive thumb pointed to the other boat,) for four, five hours. They would surely have seen it if there had been. Tom consulted his chart and consulted our own skipper. It was the very spot. With knitted brow, he ordered the boat headed for the other fishermen. I pulled a half sovereign from my pocket. “Buvez avec moi, mes garçons,” I cried, and flung the coin into the fishing boat. A chorus of “Merci’s” followed our path. The other boat gave no better results. Its sailors had seen nothing, and we ran back to the point whence the waves had come, for a brief consultation. As we gazed on the quiet water just tinged with the last of the sunset, I spoke. “There’s only one explanation, if the wave-measuring machine is correct. He’s down on the bottom in a submarine, or he was there when he sent off those waves.” “I’m afraid that’s right, Jim,” said Tom. “If I could only see down there. I wonder how deep it is.” He called to the captain. “Take a sounding here, will you please?” We hurried forward and watched the line overboard. Fathom after fathom disappeared up to the very end. “It’s more than a hundred twenty fathom, sir,” reported the captain. “No use, then,” said Tom. “Go right back to Folkestone. We’ll have a couple more tries to-morrow,” he went on. “But, frankly, I’m afraid it won’t do any good. To find a submarine in these waters would be worse than finding a needle in a haystack.” It was a rather gloomy little party that landed at Folkestone that night. We had seemed so near success. Yet there was one alleviation. I had dreaded bringing Dorothy into danger, and I had had a most uneasy feeling as to the possible result of the meeting with a man inspired with so fixed and fearful a purpose as he whom we sought. Much as I desired the completion of my search, I could not therefore feel too complete a sense of regret at the two failures which we encountered on the Channel the next day. The man was in the Channel sea. He was experimenting with his apparatus daily under its waves. We could be sure of that, but he could not be reached, so we finally gave in and returned to London. All the way up in the train, Dorothy sat in deep thought, but no result came from her meditations, and we returned to the Savoy without a ray of light as to our next move.