fastened to his belt," she said, turning white. "He uses them in his performances."

Haynes and Colton looked at each other.

"If he did it, he wasn't responsible," Helga went on impetuously. "He's such a pitiful creature—just like a dog, with his great eyes. I feel as if we had saved a baby. And he is terrified like a baby."

"At some phantom of the darkness?"

The girl nodded. "Something that he hasn't even seen. He thinks it came down from the upper air after him as the ship was going to pieces. While the others were being taken off in the breeches-buoy he was crawling down the main ratlines to escape from this thing. Finally his fears drove him overboard."

"Just as well for him," said Colton. "If he had stayed he would have been killed in the wreckage with the mate and captain."

"Dr. Colton thinks the man is insane," said Haynes. "What is your view, Princess?"

"I think so too. But I think some strange thing has terrified him. Perhaps one of the sails tore loose and blew on him. Or it may have been the lightning."

"That might be it, and in his panic he may have struck out and killed Petersen by accident. But in that case, why should the other sailors,'who must have seen it, shield him? I guess the best thing is to put it to him straight," concluded Haynes.

Followed by Colton, he went into the room where the suspect lay.

"See here!" began Haynes abruptly. "We want to know why you killed Petersen the sailor."

The stranger's dark eyes widened. He stared at his questioner with dropped jaw.

"Yes; why you killed him—with this." Haynes touched the hilt of one of the knives that protruded from the man's belt.

"No, no!" protested the man. "I not got nothing against Petersen. I not know Petersen."

"You were on board when he left?"

"Yes; I see zem go—one—two—three—so many—seven. Not me; I haf to stay. No one care to safe ze wonderful Whalley."

"Did you see anyone fight with Petersen or strike him?" asked Colton.

"No; see nothing."

After fifteen minutes of fruitless cross-questioning the investigators called in the negro, Hawkins.

"Him kill Petersen?" repeated Hawkins. "No—sir—ee, boss! He wasn't nowheyah nigh when Petersen went off, safe an' wavin' his hand goodbye."

"Someone killed him," said Haynes. "This man, yourself, Corliss and the captain and mate were the only ones aboard."

"That's right, boss. Corliss and the Old Man and I stood right by and saw him off. No, sir, if he wa'n't killed by the lightnin' or on the cliff, somethin' got him on the way in."

"You think he may have met his death after he landed, then?"

"No, sir; that cain't hardly be," replied the negro after a moment's consideration. "Some of our crew was in a'ready. The life-savers was there. Couldn't anyone a-give it to him without the othahs seein' it."

"So, you see, he must have been dead when he left the ship. Now, Hawkins, you'll save yourself trouble by telling me what you know of this."

"'Fo' Heaven, boss, I do' know a livin' thing!" And nothing more could Haynes get from the negro. After dismissing him, Haynes said to Colton:

"You go around, and under pretence of looking after their injuries, question all the sailors as to whether there was bad blood between the dead man and any of his shipmates. I've got some work to do."

At another time the young doctor might have resented the assumption of authority, but now he was too deeply interested in the case. Half an hour later he returned empty of results.

"Not a bit of trouble that I can get wind of. What's that you're writing, a report for the coroner?"

"No; this will never get to the coroner. I'm certain it's a murder; but I'm equally certain that there's no case against any individual. I'm writing up the wreck for my paper."

"Are you down here working?" asked Colton.

"No, I'm on vacation; but a reporter is always on duty for an emergency like this."

"You're Harris Haynes of The New Era, aren't you?" asked Colton. "You're the man that proved the celebrated Bellows suicide and saved Dr. Senderton."

"He saved himself by telling a straight story, even though it seemed damaging, where most men would have tried to lie," said Haynes. "Anyone except a Central Office detective would have had the sense to know that the letter was written to bear out a grudge. They never should have arrested him."

"I was one of the men called in on the case. You've shaved your beard, or I should have remembered you."

"Well, we shan't have any such satisfactory result in this case," said the reporter. "Hello! What's Bruce doing down here?"

The life-guard from the Bow Hill station came hurrying to him. "They've just got in the life-line, Mr. Haynes," he said, "and I examined it as you told me. It's blood-soaked in the middle, and there are blood-stains all along the shoreward half. There's nothing on the end toward the ship."

"Great Scott!" cried Colton, as the meaning of this poured light into his mind. "Then the poor fellow was killed between the ship and the shore!"

"It looks that way," said Haynes, scowling thoughtfully. "No, by Jove, it can't be! I've missed a trick somewhere. There's some other explanation."

"Mightn't the blood-stains have got washed out?" suggested the guard.

"Why should half of the rope be clean and not the other half, then?" countered Haynes. "You didn't make a mistake as to which was the shore end of the buoy rope?" he cried in sudden hopefulness.

"Bit o' spar came in with the clean end," returned Bruce briefly, and that hope was gone.

"It's at least curious," observed Colton thoughtfully, "that the juggler's shrinking from some aerial terror should so correspond with a murder in mid-air."

"You're becoming pretty imaginative," retorted the other disagreeably. "This crazy Whalley stabbed Petersen aboard the ship. What his motive was, or how he got away with it, or why the others don't give him away, is beyond me. But he did the job, and this bogy-man scare of his is the weak cunning of a disordered mind to divert suspicion. Circumstantial evidence to the contrary, that's what's what!" Then, with his quick change of tone: "Princess! Oh, Princess!"

"What is it, Petit Père?" said the girl.

"Will you come along home with us?"

"Right away. We don't always welcome our guests with so much excitement, Dr. Colton," she added, as she slipped her arm through Haynes'. After a moment's pause she asked him:

"Do you think Paul Serdholm knows anything of the—the murder?"

"Why?"

"Because he thinks you believe he does. And he's ugly about it. Do watch him, Petit Père. He doesn't like you, you know."

"Ah," said Haynes as the three set out across the billowy grass-land. "Perhaps he'll bear a little watching."

They walked in silence, home. Once Helga stopped short on a hill-top and turned her face toward the sea, listening intently, but almost immediately shook her head.

Dick Colton got to bed just before dawn, with a mind divided in speculation between the mystery of the dead man and the more personal mystery of a small, wadded treasure in his pocket.