The blue car had stopped. Rafe Silver got out. Ralph hurried nearer and Tobias followed in his wake. "I’ll drive it for him," the young fellow said over his shoulder to the lightkeeper. "I see his arm’s in a sling. I want to get to town as quick as I can. If Dagger is still at the hotel——" Tobias trotted to keep up with him. "Dad fetch it, boy!" he gasped, "I’ve got interest in this business, too, I cal’late. Hey, Rafe! Get out’n his way." The Portuguese stepped aside. Ralph whirled the crank, and as the spark caught he leaped in behind the steering wheel. "Hey, you!" yelled the detective, suddenly waking up. "I want you! Hey! you’re under arrest." But the only person near enough to join Ralph on the front seat of the car was Tobias Bassett. He plunged in just as Ralph shot the limousine over the guttered brink of the road and down upon the sands. The big car jounced and groaned, but its engine did not balk. The detective ran after it for a few yards, shouting for Ralph to stop. But when the car got back into the road he gave it up. Lorna was left on the shore in a fog of amazement. It was several minutes before she thought of Miss Heppy. Then she went back to the lighthouse. The storm had been abating for an hour or more. It was not yet half past five when the big automobile swung into the head of Main Street. The round, red face of the sun was just breaking through the drab cloud banks overhanging the sea. Its first beams washed the empty village in a rosy glow. After the turmoil of the night the townspeople were late in rising. "What do you cal’late on doing?" demanded Tobias, as Ralph halted the car in front of the hotel. "See if those fellows are here yet. If they’re not——" "I’m with you!" exclaimed the lightkeeper, alighting with alacrity. "If they robbed the bank, why, dad fetch it! they got all my and Heppy’s savings, too. I never did like that Degger." He was right at Ralph’s heels when the latter strode into the hotel office. A yawning clerk stopped in the middle of a mighty stretch, and, with mouth agape, stared at the visitors. "Are Con Degger and Burtwell here?" demanded Ralph. "Why—why——" "Are they?" "Yes. I just got ’em up. The cook’s getting them some breakfast, for they are going out on the clam train." "Where are their rooms?" "Right upstairs. One flight. At the rear of the hall. Number eight." This staccato information followed Ralph as he started up the stairs. Tobias lingered long enough to say to the clerk: "They needn’t hold the clam train for ’em this morning. And you tell the cook his breakfast won’t likely be eat by them two scalawags unless he serves it to ’em in jail." Puffing after his exertions, Tobias was right behind Ralph when the young man reached the door of number eight. Ralph did not stop to knock, but flung the door open.