Just as we were turning to go back to the boat Catty saw him go into the telegraph office on the corner and he nudged me.

“Let’s see what he’s up to,” said he, and then he says to Mr. Browning, “Wait just a minute at the boat for us, will you, Mr. Browning? We’ll be right there.”

“All right. Don’t get lost, and don’t let a millionaire bite you,” says he.

So we hiked back, and there was our man standing at the counter writing a message. Catty nosed up beside him and made believe he was writing a message, but he wasn’t. Pretty soon the man handed in his message, and Catty and I came away.

“Well?” says I.

“Got it,” says he.

“What did it say?” says I.

“It was to a man named Jonas P. Dunn in New York, and it said: ‘Followed them to Newport. Can’t lose them. Will act when advisable.’ And his name is House. That’s all.”

“It’s something,” says I. “I don’t like that part that they’ll act when advisable. It doesn’t sound cheerful. Wonder how they’ll act, and when it’ll be advisable.”

“That,” said Catty, “is for us to find out.”

It began to cloud up and get cold by the time we were getting back to the Albatross, and pretty soon it began to rain. The yacht began to roll a little, not so much because of the waves but on account of us laying at anchor with the wind blowing against us. I was pretty sleepy and so was Catty, so we went below and fixed up our berths and rolled in. It was the finest motion to go to sleep by that I ever felt. Regular rock-a-bye-baby, and before I knew it I was dreaming about pirates and desert islands and thingumbobs. I don’t know how long I slept, but all at once something waked me up and I lay still, kind of scairt. Then there came a sort of grinding bump and the Albatross rolled like a rolling pin, and I landed right out in the middle of the floor. Catty got there about the time I did.

“What’s the matter?” says he.

“Don’t know. Feels like we’re wrecked,” says I.

“How’s a boat going to get wrecked that’s lying at anchor?” says he.

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