CHAPTER XXI. A TIMELY ARRIVAL Would they be pursued this night? Would before the dawn, to race with him? Thus there be any yacht set sail from Southport, thought Mr. Carleton. Thus he questioned himself, and answered, “No.” And yet the good yacht _Viking_ was, all unknown to any one, running a race. The goal was Stoneland—and the competitor, the yacht _Surprise_. Thirty miles apart, these two yachts had entered upon this race—and no one knew it. At about the time the _Viking_ had got under way from out Southport Harbour, so had the yacht _Surprise_ floated clear. Should they try to beat back to Stoneland before morning? Why not? The night need not stop them. The crew knew the way. The yacht _Surprise_ began the long, ten-mile beat for Stoneland at about twelve o’clock. The yacht _Viking_ was already under way. Would they meet or would they pass? Harry Brackett, lying miserably on the cabin berth, was suddenly aware that the yacht had ceased running and had swung up into the wind. Then he heard the sound of the sail dropping. He sat up in wonder. The next moment, Mr. Carleton descended into the cabin. The yacht _Viking_ was drifting before the wind at its own will. There was little sea on, and Mr. Carleton had abandoned the wheel. “What—what’s the matter?” stammered poor Harry Brackett. “Nothing,” replied Mr. Carleton, shortly. He paid no heed to the forlorn figure on the berth, but hastily proceeded to light another lantern. He turned the wick up so that it shone brightly, and, carrying it, went direct to the third starboard locker that had been Squire Brackett’s undoing. He stooped down and pulled out, first, the larger drawer, and then the smaller and secret one. By the lantern light, he looked within. Harry Brackett, gazing at him in amazement, saw a strange and unaccountable thing. He saw the man’s face, in the lantern’s gleam, pale to a deathly hue. He saw the drawer that he held drop from his fingers and fall to the floor. He saw the man stagger back, like one that has been struck a blow. Then, the man’s face, turned toward him, was so full of fierce passion and wrath that he shrank back, terrified, and dared not speak to ask him what it might mean. Now Mr. Carleton advanced to where he lay. “Get up! I want you to help me,” was all he said. But Harry Brackett, to his dying day, would never forget that voice. He scrambled up and followed the man outside. “Get that sail up!” said Mr. Carleton. Harry Brackett seized the halyards. The yacht _Viking_ went on its course again. But precious moments had been lost. The man’s face was something fearful to look into. He threw the wheel over and back, as though he would twist it apart. But he uttered not a word. Now they were running near a thin chain of islands. Mr. Carleton brought forth a chart and spread it out upon the cockpit floor, with the lantern on one corner. “Do you know this bay at all?” he inquired, suddenly.