Part 29 (2/2)

”The--Ramona,” she faltered.

”The steamer mother and father sailed on?” asked Belle, her face pale in the lamp-light.

”The same name, at any rate,” remarked Walter, in a low voice. ”And there would hardly be two alike in these waters.”

”But what does it mean? Where did he get the cap?” asked Cora, her voice rising with her excitement. ”Tell me, Jack!”

”He says it was flung to him by some sort of an insane sailor, I take it, on a lonely island.”

”That's it, Missie,” broke in the man, his tone sufficiently respectful. ”Me and my mates, as I was tellin' the boss here,” and he nodded at Jack, ”started to fill our water casks, but we didn't stay to do it arter we saw this chap. Fair a wild man, I'd call 'im, Missie. That's what I would. Fair a wild man!”

”And he flung you this cap?”

”That's what he done, Missie. Chucked it right into the tea, Missie, jest like it didn't cost nothin', and it was a good cap once.”

It was not now, whatever it had been, for it bore evidence of long sea immersion, and the band had been broken and cracked by the manner in which the negro fisherman had crammed it into his pocket.

”Jack!” exclaimed Cora, in a strangely agitated voice. ”We must hear more of this story. It may be--it may be a clue!”

”That's what I'm thinking.”

A little knot of idlers had gathered at seeing the negro talking to the group of white 'young people, and Walter and Jack, exchanging glances mutually decided that the rest of the affair might better be concluded in seclusion. Jack gave the negro a hasty but comprehensive glance.

”Shall we take him aboard, Cora?” he asked his sister. Jack was very willing to defer to Cora's opinion, for he had, more than once, found her judgment sound. And, in a great measure, this was her affair, since she had been invited first by the Robinsons, and Jack himself was only a sort accidental after-thought.

”I think it would be better to take him to the Tartar,” Cora said.

”We can question him there, and, if necessary, we can--”

She hesitated, and Jack asked:

”Well, what? Go on!”

”No, I want to think about it first,” she made reply. ”Wait until we girls hear his story.”

”Will you come to our motor boat?” asked Jack of the sailor, who said he was known by the name of Slim Jim, which indeed, as far as his physical characteristics were concerned, fitted him perfectly. He was indeed slim, though of rather a pleasant cast of features.

”Sure, boss, I'll go,” he answered. ”Of course I might git a job by hangin' around here, but--”

”Oh, we'll pay you for your time--you won't lose anything.” Jack interrupted. Indeed the man had, from the first, it seemed, accosted him with the idea of getting a little ”spare-change” for, like most of the negro population of the Antilles, he was very poor.

”But what's it all about?” asked Bess, who had not heard all the talk, and who, in consequence, had not followed the significance of the encounter.

”Zey have found a man, who says a sailor on some island near here, wore a cap with ze name of your mozer's steamer,” put in Inez, who, with the quickness of her race, had gathered those important facts.

”Oh!” gasped Bess.

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