“That book, sir, ought to be lyin’ at the bottom of the sea.  It was lost on the evening of September the 3rd, 1886, on board a yacht that went down with all hands.  Now I’ll tell you all about it.  There was a gentleman called Blake staying over at Port William that summer—­that’s four miles up the coast, you know.”

I nodded.

“. . . staying with his wife and one son, a tall young fellow, aged about twenty-one, maybe.  They came from Liverpool—­and they had a yacht with them, that they kept in Port William harbour, anchored just below the bridge.  She would be about thirty tons—­a very pretty boat.  They had only one hired hand for crew; used to work her themselves for the most part; the lady was extraordinary clever at the helm, or at the sheets either.  Very quiet people they were.  You might see them most days that summer, anchored out on the whiting grounds.  What was she called?  The Queen of Sheba—­cutter-rigged-quite a new boat.  It was said afterwards that the owner, Mr. Blake, designed her himself.  She used often to drop anchor off Penleven.  Know her?  Why of course I’d know her; ‘specially considerin’ what happened.

“‘What was that?’ A very sad case; it made a lot of talk at the time.  One day—­it was the third of September, ’86—­Mr. and Mrs. Blake and the son, they anchored off the haven and came up here to tea.  I supposed at the time they’d left their paid hand, Robertson, on board; but it turned out he was left home at Port William that day, barkin’ a small mainsail that Mr. Blake had bought o’ purpose for the fishin’.  Well, Mrs. Blake she ordered tea, and while my missus was layin’ the cloth young Mr. Blake he picks up that very book, sir, that was lyin’ on the sideboard, and begins readin’ it and laffin’.  My wife, she goes out of the room for to cut the bread-and-butter, and when she comes back there was the two gentlemen by the window studyin’ the book with their backs to the room, and Mrs. Blake lyin’ back in the chair I’m now sittin’ on, an’ her face turned to the wall—­so.  The young Mr. Blake he turns round and says, ‘This here’s a very amusin’ book, Mrs. Job.  Would you mind my borrowing it for a day or two to copy out some of the poetry?  I’ll bring it back next time we put into Penleven.’  Of course my wife says, ‘No, she didn’t mind.’  Then the elder Mr. Blake he says, ’I see you had a visitor here yesterday—­a Mr. MacGuire.  Is he in the house?’ My wife said, ’No; the gentleman had left his traps, but he’d started that morning to walk to Port William to spend the day.’  Nothing more passed.  They had their tea, and paid for it, and went off to their yacht.  I saw that book in the young man’s hand as he went down the passage.