We were still standing out to sea, and one of the hands took the tiller; the other received instructions to kick the wind out of me if I shouted or began asking questions. Then the skipper went below. I listened, but I could not hear him speak to Mrs. Selborne. It was fine sunset that evening. When we presently came round and stood in towards shore I got a feast of color over Romney Marsh. Watching the ever-changing colors as the night crept out of the sea, I remembered that Quarles was interested in Romney Marsh, in a lonely house there about which he had had no time to tell me last night; had this lonely house an interest for me? I tried to work out the plot in a dozen ways, endeavoring to understand how the thieves could secure themselves if I were allowed to live. That gorgeous sunset was depressing. The coming night might be so full of ominous meaning for me. It was dark by the time we drew in towards the shore. A light or two marked Dymchurch to our left, to our right were the lights of Hythe. By what landmark the skipper chose his position I do not know, but presently the anchor was let go and we swung round. The tide must have been nearly at the full. A few minutes later the dinghy was got into the water, and the steps let down. Everything was accomplished as neatly and deliberately as I had seen it done each time I had gone sailing in the yacht. Then the skipper came over to me and tried my bonds to make sure I had not worked them loose under cover of the darkness. "All right," he said. "You can get her up." Evidently they were going to take Mrs. Selborne ashore. She came up on deck, she was not brought up. She was not bound in any way. "Half past ten," said the skipper. "Sure you will be all right alone?" I could not tell to which of the hands he spoke; at any rate, he got no answer except by a nod, perhaps. Half past ten; that was the time Mrs. Selborne's husband was to arrive. Then came a surprise. The three men got into the dinghy and pulled towards the shore. I was left alone with Mrs. Selborne. "Caught, Mr. Murray--Wigan." She laughed as she paused between my two names, and seated herself on a corner of the skylight with a revolver in her lap. "We can talk," she went on, "but a shout would be dangerous. I am used to handling firearms. Our last sail together, a notable one, and not yet over. You're a more pleasant companion than I expected to find you, but you are not such a great detective as I had been led to suppose." I was too astonished to make any kind of answer. She was quite right. I had never detected a criminal in her. All her kindness was an elaborate scheme to get me in her power. Did Quarles know? Surely not, or he would have put me on my guard. "Posing as an invalid was an excellent notion," she went on, "and you are not altogether a failure. You have prevented a haul being made at the Folkestone Hotel because we could not discover what men you had at work. I wonder how you got on my track?"