Ichabod's conscience smote him. He was ashamed that he had not instituted a search immediately after the fellow's disappearance from the Island. He had had the right to call on the Sheriff of the county for aid. There had been plain theft. A pair of blankets had been stolen from him--as also his chanticleer. The monetary loss from this robbery meant nothing to the fisherman, but it would have served as an excuse for arresting the man, and thus rescuing his girl victim.... Ichabod remembered the man chained to the engine in the sunken yacht. It was doubtless this murderer who now had the girl in his power. Should it suit his ends, would that desperate man hesitate to murder even the girl herself--the girl he had saved from drowning? Ichabod decided that he would fulfill a belated duty by going to town next day, there to swear out a warrant of arrest against the abductor of the girl, that thus the Sheriff should have reason to search the waters of the Sound in the hope of arresting the guilty man and rescuing his victim.... Despite the thrilling experiences of a day so unaccustomedly feminine, the sturdy old fisherman, when he was done with his meditations, slept soundly throughout the night. He was up at cock-crow--though there was no clarion call from Shrimp to awaken. It was while he was busy over the preparation of a modest breakfast that there came the wailing cry of a yacht's siren. It sounded from the northward, evidently not far away from the Island. Captain Icky shut the drafts on the stove, pushed the coffee-pot back to a position where it would keep hot without boiling. Then he stepped outside the shack to watch the incoming vessel pass over the bar into the waters of the Inlet. He was impressed at first glance by the beautiful lines of the little vessel, which was evidently of light draft so she might cruise safely in shallow waters, while capable of weathering a storm-tossed sea. It was a new thing that a yacht of such size should come to anchor off the Island. Ichabod watched curiously as the vessel slackened heavily and then let a light anchor drop from the starboard side of the bow. Presently, he saw a small boat put off from the yacht, rowed by two sailors, and carrying two passengers in the stern. When he made sure that a landing was intended, Ichabod went down to the point to greet the unexpected visitors. As the boat touched the landing, the two men stepped ashore and advanced toward Ichabod, who greeted them hospitably. "Howdy, men! Ye are welcome to Ichabod's Island. But it's a leetle unusual to have a call from boats o' your class.... Jones is my name--Captain Ichabod Jones, at your service!" The shorter man stepped forward, and introduced himself as Jack Scott. He presented his companion as his friend, Roy Morton. "Captain Jones," the stranger began, "we are now, I take it, just at the entrance to the Beaufort Inlet." "Yes, yender is the Inlet," Ichabod replied. The other spoke with curt incisiveness.