“No.”      

       “Or Crookes-quartermaster.”      

       “Never.”      

       “Nor yet of Ready—a passenger?”      

       “No.”      

       “It's no use goin' on,” said the captain folding up the paper.     

       “None whatever, sir,” said the mate     

       “Ready! Ready!” I repeated. “I do seem to have heard that name before. Won't you give me another chance?”      

       The paper was unfolded with a shrug.     

       “There was another passenger of the name of San-Santos. Dutchman, seemin'ly. Ever heard o' him?”      

       My disappointment was keen. I could not say that I had. Yet I would not swear that I had not.     

       “Oh, won't you? Well, there's only one more chance. Ever heard of Miss Eva Denison—”      

       “By God, yes! Have you?”      

       I was sitting bolt upright in my bunk. The skipper's beard dropped upon his chest.     

       “Bless my soul! The last name o' the lot, too!”      

       “Have you heard of her?” I reiterated.     

       “Wait a bit, my lad! Not so fast. Lie down again and tell me who she was.”      

       “Who she was?” I screamed. “I want to know where she is!”      

       “I can't hardly say,” said the captain awkwardly. “We found the gig o' the Lady Jermyn the week arter we found you, bein' becalmed like; there wasn't no lady aboard her, though.”      

       “Was there anybody?”      

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