The fisherman was at the hut when Larry arrived, and was busy preparing a meal.

“Guess you feel like eating something, don’t ye?” he asked.

“You guessed it right the first time,” replied the young reporter, with a grin.

“And my other company,” went on Bailey.  “I expect he’s hungry.”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes; I came back here a while ago and there wasn’t a sign of him.”

“Why, that’s queer,” returned the fisherman.  “I’ve been so busy frying this bacon and making fresh coffee I didn’t notice it.  But that reminds me, I haven’t seen or heard anything of him since I came in.  His clothes are gone, too.”

Larry and Bailey made a hasty search through the cabin.  There were few places where a person could conceal himself, and they very soon found that their late guest was nowhere on the premises.

“Here’s something,” remarked Larry, as he looked on a small table in the room where the rescued man had slept.  “It looks like a note.”

It was a note, written on the fly leaf torn from a book.  It read: 

“Dear friends.  Accept my thanks for saving my life.  Please take this small remembrance for your trouble.”

There was no signature to the note, but folded in the paper was a hundred-dollar bill, somewhat damp from immersion in the sea.

“Well, sink my cuttle-fish!” exclaimed Bailey.  “That’s odd.  A hundred dollars!  That’s more than I make in a summer season.  But half of it’s yours.  I’d like to rescue people steady at that rate.”

“It’s all yours,” said Larry.  “I got the story I came down after, and that’s all I want.  But I would like to find this Mah Retto, if that’s his name.  He doesn’t write much like a foreigner, though he looks like one.  May I keep this note?”

“As long as you don’t want a share in the hundred-dollar one, I reckon you can,” Bailey replied, with a laugh.

Larry folded the scrap of paper to put in his pocket.  As he did so something bright and shining on the floor attracted his attention.  He stooped to pick it up, finding it was a small gold coin, of curious design, evidently used as a watch charm.

“I guess our man dropped this,” Larry said, holding it out to Bailey.

“Well, you can keep that, with the note.  Perhaps it will help you solve the mystery,” the fisherman said.  “I’m satisfied with what I got.”

Larry put the charm in his pocket, together with the note, and was about to leave the room, when the fisherman, who was lifting from the corner a box, in which to deposit his money, uttered an exclamation.

“What is it?” asked Larry.

“Why, it’s a man’s beard.  Somebody’s shaved his off and left it here.  How in the name of a soft-shell clam——­”

“It’s that man!” cried Larry.  “I knew he had a beard on when we pulled him ashore!”

“A beard on?” murmured Bailey, in questioning tones.