Hardly were the last words out of his mouth before I had jumped for my hat and was hurrying down the stairs with a generous order for expense money in my hand. A moment’s stop at the cashier’s, and I was out on the street. Up and down I looked for cab or automobile. I was bound for the water front. For once, there was not even a street car going my way. I started hurriedly on, half running in my speed. As I rushed along, I heard my name, “Mr. Orrington!” The voice would have called me miles. It was Dorothy Haldane, seated in a big blue motor. Her chauffeur drew up beside me, and she threw open the door. “Let me take you wherever you are going, and tell me if you have heard more from that letter.” I needed no second invitation, gave the wharf address to the chauffeur, and turned to answer Dorothy. As I told her the news, she leaned forward to the chauffeur. “Go back to where we left Mr. Haldane’s launch,” she said, and turned to me. “I’ve just left Tom at his launch, which was to take him out to the Black Arrow. They were waiting for some provisions at the wharf, and may be there yet. He’ll be delighted to take you, and the Black Arrow is one of the swiftest motor yachts in the bay. Will you make your search on her? If you will, I’ll go with you. I only stayed ashore to-day to do some shopping that can wait.” When the gods befriend a man, who is he to say nay? Through the hot and dirty markets we sped and reached the wharf, just as the Black Arrow’s launch was leaving the shore. A clear call and a wave of Dorothy’s parasol brought it back, while a bewildered smile passed over Tom Haldane’s face as he saw us awaiting him. “Why, Jim!” he began. “Don’t stop to talk now,” said Dorothy. “Take us to the Black Arrow as fast as you can.” In a moment we had cleared the wharves and were passing from the dirt and smells of the city on to the clear waters of the bay. As we went, Dorothy explained the situation to Tom, who fell in with the plan joyously. Once on the slim rakish yacht, he spoke. “Now, Jim, you’re in command. Where are we going?” “Right down the coast,” I said, “and we’ll megaphone every fisherman and yacht. It’s the men on the coasters who will know, if any one does.” Swift as her name, the Black Arrow ploughed her way through the summer sea. Pleasantest of all assignments to sit on her deck and watch Dorothy Haldane as she talked and speculated on the problem before us. Could one man have sunk so mighty a battleship? Was there any possibility that a single man could make war on the world? Tom came up to us in the midst of the discussion, and stood listening. “Queer this should come up now,” he said. “It was only last winter that some one was talking about something like this up at our house, one Sunday night. Who was it, Dorothy?” A sudden look of alarm flashed across her face. She started to speak and then broke off. “Oh! I hardly remember.”