his cabin and take his place on the bridge beside Captain Sparhawk. That bronzed mariner handed the millionaire his glasses and Mr. Jukes’ rather fat, pallid face took on an unwonted hue of excitement as he handed them back.

The boys standing on the main deck just below the bridge heard the owner of the yacht putting sharp questions. He showed more animation than he had at any time during the voyage. The sight of the other craft appeared to affect him curiously.

“She’s a schooner, Sparhawk.”

“Undoubtedly, sir.”

“But although she has her canvas set she is making no way.”

“That appears to be correct. But there is little wind. Odd though that she doesn’t signal us.”

Mr. Jukes snatched up the glasses again from the shelf where he had laid them down.

“Blessed if I can make out a soul on board her, Sparhawk,” he exclaimed presently. “Here, try what you can do.”

He handed the binoculars over to the master of the Sea Gypsy. Captain Sparhawk took a prolonged observation. When he, in turn, laid the glasses down his thin, mahogany-hued face bore a puzzled look.

“It’s queer, sir, but I don’t seem to be able to make out a living soul either.”

“A derelict, perhaps?”

“Possibly,” assented the captain, and no more was said as, with all eyes fixed on the strange schooner, the Sea Gypsy drew nearer. The boys could now make out every detail of the other craft. She was a trig-looking schooner, painted black, with a flush deck except for her after house and a small structure astern of the fore-mast. Her canvas was set but it flapped idly in the light breeze as she swung to and fro on the Pacific swells. No guiding hand could be seen at her wheel. Not a soul was visible on her deserted decks.

There is no more melancholy sight than a sea derelict, the aimless prey of winds and currents, drifting sometimes for years over the trackless wastes of the ocean. The boys felt something of this as all doubt as to human occupancy of the schooner vanished.

“Deserted, I reckon,” hazarded Jack. “Although her canvas appears perfect, her hull sound and——”

He broke off sharply. From the abandoned ship there had suddenly come a sound which, under the circumstances, was particularly depressing and even startling.

It was the measured tolling of a bell, like a funeral knell.

“Hark!” cried Raynor, as the two boys exchanged glances.

“I have it,” exclaimed Jack the next instant. “That’s only the tolling of the ship’s bell as the schooner rolls on the sea.”

“My, it gave me a jump though,” admitted Raynor. “Hullo, they are slowing down. Must be going to board her.”

“Evidently,” agreed Jack, as the Sea Gypsy’s propeller revolved more and more slowly.

Captain Sparhawk descended from the bridge. The ponderous form of Mr. Jukes followed him. The millionaire’s face bore a look of strange excitement.

“Of course that can’t be the schooner,” the boys heard him say to the captain, “but still I can’t pass it unsearched.”

His eye fell on the boys.

“Lads, we are going to board that schooner and try to find out something about her,” he said. “Do you want to go along?”

These were the first words the boys had had with their employer in some days. Of course both jumped at the chance, and before many minutes passed, one of the yacht’s remaining boats was being sent over the sea at a fast clip toward the derelict. Close inspection showed the schooner’s condition not to be as good as it had seemed at a distance. Her paint was