Browning went inside to telephone, while we sat on the porch. Pretty soon he came out again, and said he would have to go down to New Bedford on some business, and that we could go along if we wanted to, but Catty says, “Thanks, but I guess we better stay here where we can keep an eye on the yacht. Kind of an int’resting place, this is, and I’d like to hang around and see what’s to be seen.”

“All right,” says Mr. Browning. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Now what?” says I, when Mr. Browning had gone.

Catty pointed and there was a dinghy coming in from the Porpoise. It rowed up to the float and Mr. House stepped ashore and walked up toward the clubhouse. Right then Catty pulled the chart out of his pocket and pretended like he was studying it hard. When Mr. House came up the steps Catty looked up and says, “Good afternoon,” and Mr. House spoke back as pleasant as pie.

“Fine day,” says he, stopping and looking us over. “Bully harbor. Live here, you boys?”

“No,” says Catty, “we live aboard a yacht. Just came in. There she lies.”

“Um....” says Mr. House, “the Albatross, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Who owns her? We’ve seen her quite a bit on this cruise.”

“Mr. Browning, of New York.”

“Just cruising, or going somewhere?”

“Just cruising.”

“Same here,” says he. “What you doing? Studying navigation?”

“No,” says Catty, “this is just an old chart we picked up on deck this morning. Got some funny marks on it, and we’re trying to figure what they mean. Guess Mr. Topper threw it away.”

“Oh.... Funny marks, eh? I’m quite a navigator, maybe I can help you out.”

“Here you are,” says Catty, and he handed over the map. Mr. House took it, and we watched his face. He bit his lips, and that was the only sign he gave of anything going on inside his head. He studied it over.

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