"You're sure we've looked everywhere, Gates?" I asked, stunned at the disappearance of Sylvia and mystified by the whole affair. "Everywhere, sir. To tell the truth, Mr. Jack, a minute ago it was as complete a mystery as I ever saw. But I understand it now. They've taken to the small boats and escaped, sir. They've just sailed in close to shore and done that during the night, sir; and all morning we've been chasing a boat with nobody on it. I should have noticed the small boats gone, if I hadn't been so sure the people were here." I leaned against the wall too utterly disappointed to move, vaguely wondering if this were another dream from which I should awake and find the _Orchid_ sailing out ahead of us. But it was no dream. In dreams one can not always know that one is dreaming, but there is never a doubt of knowing when one is awake. "They couldn't be under the floor?" I asked, absurdly clinging to a straw of hope that Sylvia might be there. "Lor' bless you, no, sir! I tell you, Mr. Jack, they just sailed as close as they dared to those islands, and skipped--the hull pack of 'em; first having headed the _Orchid_ out as we found her. That's why everything was so quiet the larst part of the night--there warn't anyone here to _make_ a noise!" Passing back to the galley we saw half our crew, in a circle, looking down at the wounded man. "Who is it, Tommy?" I asked. "Not the old scoundrel himself, by any good luck?" "Stranger yet," he said, waving the others back and standing up, "It's your black giant of the Key West docks!" "How the devil did he get here?" I cried, pushing between the men and also looking down at him. "How did he get here?" I asked again, but Tommy had gone. Someone had put a cushion under his head. His eyes were open, gazing up with their former gentle expression; more sad now, I fancied, since the great human machine he had controlled was wounded. "How did he get here?" I repeated my general question, this time straight at him. His lips moved with a curious, rather horrible, inarticulate sound, and his glance swept our crew as though in search of a face. Then he seemed to give it up, and passed a hand slowly over his forehead. I was about to order him carried on deck when Tommy called through the galley portlight: "Fetch your wounded, Jack! The professor's here with his outfit!" As our men stooped to obey the big fellow surprised us by quietly arising; and, when cushions had been arranged in a shaded place above, he laid on them as obediently as a docile mastiff. Monsieur, very much in his element, became busy at once. The _Whim_ and the _Orchid_ were still at grips--or rather were it more correct to say the _Orchid_ was in the _Whim's_ grip. Lines had been passed through the chocks of each, sails had been hauled down, and both yachts rode inertly side by side.