“Ilion, then, was once your home?”

“No, never my home, though it was once my mother’s home.  I used to visit here occasionally, years and years ago.”

Aleck produced his quizzical grin.  “A gallant person would protest that that is incredible.”

“I wasn’t angling for gallantry,” Agatha replied wearily.  “I am twenty-six, and I haven’t been here certainly since I was eight years old.  Eighteen years are a good many.”

“To youth, yes,” acquiesced Aleck.  “Which reminds me, by contrast, of the hermit; he was so incredibly old.  It was he who unwittingly put me on Jim’s track.  He said that the owner or proprietor of the Jeanne D’Arc was dropped ashore on his island.”

“Monsieur Chatelard?” cried Agatha.

“I don’t know his name.”

“If it was Monsieur Chatelard,” Agatha paused, looking earnestly at Aleck, “if it was he, it is the man who tricked me into his motor-car in New York, drugged me and carried me aboard his yacht while I was unconscious.”

Aleck turned a sharp, though not unsympathetic, gaze upon Agatha.  “I have told no one but Doctor Thayer, and he did not believe me.  But it is quite true; the wreck saved me, probably, from something worse, though I don’t know what.”

If there had been skepticism on Aleck’s face for an instant it had disappeared.  Instead, there was deep concern, as he considered the case.

“Had you ever seen the man Chatelard before?”

“Never to my knowledge.”

“Did he visit you on board the yacht?”

“Only once.  I was put into the charge of an old lady, a Frenchwoman, Madame Sofie; evidently a trusted chaperon, or nurse, or something like that.  When I came to myself in a very luxurious cabin in the yacht, this old woman was talking to me in French—­a strange medley that I could make nothing of.  When I was better she questioned me about everything, saying ‘Mon Dieu!’ at every answer I made.  Then she left me and was gone a long time; and when she came back, that man was with her.  I learned afterward that he was called Monsieur Chatelard.  They both looked at me, arguing fiercely in such a furious French that I could not understand more than half they said.  They looked as if they were appraising me, like an article for sale, but Madame Sofie held out steadily, on some point, against Monsieur Chatelard, and finally it appeared that she converted him to her own point of view.  He went away very angry, and I did not see him again, except at a distance, until the night of the wreck.”

“Did you find out where they were going, or who was back of their scheme?”

“No, nothing; or very little.  There was money involved.  I could tell that.  But no names were mentioned, nor any places that I can remember.  You see, I was ill from the effects of the chloroform, and frightened, too, I think.”

“I don’t wonder,” said Aleck, wrinkling his homely face.  He remained silent while he searched, mentally, for a clue.