Hillyard’s second conclusion was that of one hundred trails, ten at the most would lead to any result:  but you must follow each one of the hundred up until you reach proof that you are in a blind alley.

The third was the sound and simple doctrine that you can confidently look to Chance to bring you results, probably your very best results, if you are prepared and equipped to make all your profit out of chance the moment she leans your way.  Chance is an elusive goddess, to be seized and held prisoner with a swift, firm hand.  Then she’ll serve you.  But if the hand’s not ready and the eye unexpectant, you’ll see but the trail of her robe as she vanishes to offer her assistance to another more wakeful than yourself.

In pursuit of this conviction, Hillyard steamed out of Palma Bay on the morning of the day after his interview with Jose Medina, and crossing to the mainland cruised all the next night southwards.  At six o’clock in the morning he was off a certain great high cape.  The sea was smooth as glass.  The day a riot of sunlight and summer, and the great headland with its high lighthouse thrust its huge brown knees into the water.

The Dragonfly slowed down and dawdled.  Three men stood in the stern behind the white side-awning.  Hillyard was on the bridge with his captain.

“I don’t really expect much,” he said, seeking already to discount a possible disappointment.  “It’s only a possibility, I don’t count on it.”

“Six o’clock off the cape,” said the captain.  “We are on time.”

“Yes.”

Both men searched the smooth sea for some long, sluggish, inexplicable wave which should break, or for a V-shaped ripple such as a fixed stake will make in a swiftly running stream.

“Not a sign,” said the captain, disconsolately.

“No.  Yet it is certainly true that the keeper of that lighthouse paid an amount equal to three years’ salary into a bank three weeks ago.  It is true that oil could be brought into that point, and stored there, and no one but the keeper be the wiser.  And it is true that the Acquitania is at this moment in this part of the Mediterranean steaming east for Salonika with six thousand men on board.  Let’s trail our coat a bit!” said Hillyard, and the captain with a laugh gave an order to the signal boy by his side.

The boy ran aft and in a few seconds the red ensign fluttered up the flagstaff, and drooped in the still air.  But even that provocation produced no result.  For an hour and a half the Dragonfly steamed backwards and forwards in front of the cape.

“No good!” Hillyard at last admitted.  “We’ll get on to the Acquitania, and advise her.  Meanwhile, captain, we had better make for Gibraltar and coal there.”

Hillyard went to the wireless-room, and the yacht was put about for the great scarped eastern face of the Rock.

“One of the blind alleys,” said Hillyard, as he ate his breakfast in the deck-saloon.  “Next time perhaps we’ll have better luck.  Something’ll turn up for sure.”