“That is more like it,” said the chief, quietly.  “If you can do that, your reputation as a detective will climb pretty high.  And there will be money in it for you besides.  Go ahead.”

“You remember,” continued Job, “that just at that time, almost the same date—­it was only two or three days later—­three young men from Burrough Road (my old school) were drowned from a yacht in the channel off Land’s End.”

“Yes, I remember that incident,” said the chief.  “Judge Thurston’s son, Bishop McLaren’s boy, and another by the name of Blair.”

“Well,” said Job, “I don’t believe they were drowned.  I believe that the so-called yacht was nothing but an old tub that they bought for a trifle and burned, and then in disguise they left for foreign parts; in fact, I believe I know where one of them is.”

“Just a moment, Job,” said Andrews, interrupting, “has it occurred to you that every passenger’s name is recorded on the ship’s passenger list?”

“Exactly,” admitted Job, “but who has ever examined any particular passenger list?  And who, having robbed a bank, would give his true name?  Then there are other ways of crossing the ocean besides a regular ocean steamer.”

“Well,” replied the chief, doubtfully, “ambition can construct many theories, but, really, you know, theories are worthless unless supported by something more than suspicion, and I fear your case is more of suspicion than of evidence.”

“All I want,” replied Job, earnestly, “is that you will allow me to follow my suspicions for the next three months.”

“Very well,” was the reply, “but let me advise you to go slowly.  Be discreet.  Remember there are other men also at work on this case.”

“Thank you,” replied Job with pleased emphasis, “I will remember.  Please prepare my credentials and arrange for my expenses; and,” he added, “I desire a warrant for the arrest of James Thurston.”

That evening, Job visited his club, where he was quite popular, and was received with customary good will.  One man in particular seemed much pleased to see him.  He was sitting alone at a small table, sipping coffee and at intervals emitting a cloud of smoke from a half-smoked cigar.  Shaking hands with Worth, he said, as he offered his cigar case:  “Mr. Worth, I’m glad to meet you again.  I haven’t seen you for more than a year.  Won’t you join me in a cup of this delightful beverage?”

“Thank you, Captain,” responded Worth.  “I shall be delighted.  We haven’t met, I believe, since we crossed the water together three years ago.”

“That is so,” replied the captain, as Worth sat down.

Captain Johnson was the captain and part owner of a large merchant ship, and had arrived the day before from New Orleans.

“How does it happen, Captain,” asked Job, as he lighted his cigar, “that you come from New Orleans?  Your trip used to be New York and London.”

“Yes,” replied the captain, “that was my trip up to about three years ago.  I now make alternate trips to New York and New Orleans.  There is more money in it for the company.”