“Queer name—­Jene Dark they call her.”

It was like pulling teeth to get information out of him, but Jim applied the forceps.

The yacht had been lying out in the river for two weeks or more, possibly less; belonged to foreign parts; no one thereabouts knew who its owner was; nor its captain; nor its purpose in the harbor of New York.  At last, quite gratuitously, the man volunteered a personal opinion.  “Slippery boat in a gale—­wouldn’t trust her.”

Hambleton walked smartly back, taking a look both at the yacht and the motor-car as he went.  The yacht’s nose pointed toward the Jersey shore; the car was creeping out of the dock.  As he overtook the machine, he saw that it was in the hands of a mechanic in overalls and jumper.  In answer to Hambleton’s question as, to the owner of the car, the mechanic told him pleasantly to go to the devil, and for once the sight of a coin failed to produce any perceptible effect.  But the major-general, waiting half a block away, was still in the humor of giving fatherly advice.  He welcomed Jim heartily.  “That’s a hole I ain’t got no use for.  ’Ow’d you make out?”

“Well enough, for all present purposes.  Can you undertake to do a job for me?”

“If it ain’t nothing I’d have to arrest you for, I might consider it,” he chuckled.

“I want you to go to the Laramie Club and tell Aleck Van Camp—­got the name?—­that Hambleton has gone off on the Jeanne D’Arc and may not be back for some time; and he is to look after the Sea Gull.”

“Hold on, young man; you’re not going to do anything out of reason, as one might say?”

“Oh, no, not at all; most reasonable thing in the world.  You take this money and be sure to get the message to Mr. Van Camp, will you?  All right.  Now tell me where I can find a tug-boat or a steam launch, quick.”

“O’Leary, down at pier X—­2—­O has launches and everything else.  All right, my son, Aleck Van Camp, at the Laramie.  But you be good and don’t drown yourself.”

This last injunction, word for word in the manner of the pert Edith, touched Jimmy’s humor.  He laughed ringingly.  His spirit was like a chime of bells on a week-day.

The hour which followed was one that James Hambleton found it difficult to recall afterward, with any degree of coherence; but at the time his movements were mathematically accurate, swift, effective.  He got aboard a little steam tug and followed the yacht down the river and into the harbor.  As she stood out into the roads and began to increase her speed, he directed the captain of the tug to steam forward and make as if to cross her bows.  This would make the pilot of the yacht angry, but he would be forced to slow down a trifle.  Jim watched long enough to see the success of his manoeuver, then went down into the cuddy which served as a cabin, took off most of his clothes, and looked to the fastenings of his money belt.  Then he watched his chance, and when the tug was pretty nearly in the path of the yacht, he crept to the stern and dropped overboard.