Mr. Straker frowned.  “How—­picked up?”

“Out of the water.”

“What were you in the water for?”

“I had just dropped off a tug.”

“What for?”

“Because I wanted the yacht to pick me up.”

At this point Mr. Straker directed a commiserating look at Agatha.  It said “Crazy” as plain as words.

“What were you on the tug for?”

“I had followed the yacht.”

“What for?”

The pause before James’s next answer was apparent.  When it came, there came with it that same seven-year-old look of smiling ingenuousness.  “I just wanted to see what they were going to do with Miss Redmond.”

“Jimminy Christmas!” exploded Mr. Straker.  “Any more kinks in this story?  How’d you know they’d stolen Miss Redmond?”

And so Jimmy had to tell it all, with the abominable Straker growing more and more excited every minute, and Agatha standing mute and awe-struck, looking at him.  It was plain that Jimmy, for the moment, had the upper hand.  “And that’s about all!” he laughed.

“What on earth, man, is the matter with you?” fumed Straker.  “Didn’t you know there were a hundred chances to one the yacht wouldn’t pick you up?”

Jimmy nodded, unabashed.  “One chance is good enough for me.  Nothing can kill me this trip, I tell you.  I’m good for anything.  Lucky star’s over me.  I knew it all the time.”

Straker turned a disgusted face toward Agatha.  “He’s crazy as a loon!  Isn’t he?” he questioned glumly.  But Jimmy knew his man.

“No, not crazy, Mr. Straker.  Only a touch o’ sun!  And it’s glorious, isn’t it, Miss Redmond?”

She loved him for his boyish laughter, for the rollicking spirit in his voice, but her eyes suddenly filled as she pondered the meaning back of his extraordinary story.  With Mr. Straker gone at last, it was she who came to Jim with outstretched hands.

“You mean you heard me call for help, there on the hill?”

“Yep,” he answered, suddenly sheepish.

“And you followed to rescue me if you could?”

“Yep—­of course.”

“Ah, James!  Why did you do it?”

Jim’s small-boy expression beamed from his eyes.  “I followed the Voice and the Face—­as I told you once before.  Don’t you remember?”

“I remember.  But why?”

His seven-year-old mood was suddenly touched with poetic dignity.  “I could naught else,” he said, looking into her face.  It was all tenderness; and she did not resist when he drew her gently down, till her lips touched his.

CHAPTER XXII

A MAN OF NO PRINCIPLE

Monsieur Chatelard’s disappearance was as complete as though he had dropped off the earth.  The sheriff, with his warrant in his pocket, hid his chagrin behind the sugar and flour barrels whose sale occupied his time when he wasn’t losing malefactors.  Chamberlain, having once freed his mind to the grave-like Hand, maintained absolute silence on the subject, so far as the audience at the old red house was concerned.  But he went into consultation with Aleck, and together they laid a network of police inspection about Ilion and Charlesport.