“Why?  What for?”

“That’s the ‘Hoppergrass’ he said was stolen.  Captain Bannister is here,—­at the Eagle House!”

“But he didn’t say the ’Hoppergrass’;—­he said the Hannah Billingsgate.”

“Pettingell.  That’s the other name of the ’Hoppergrass’.”

“The other name?  Does she travel under an Elias, as Gregory the Gauger calls it?”

“No, no!  The captain doesn’t like ‘Hoppergrass’ and he said he had thought of changing the name.  Come on,—­let’s go to the Eagle House.”

We made them understand at last, and then we started up the street in the direction that the crier had pointed.  On the way, Jimmy Toppan was struck by doubts.

“I don’t see how the Captain could change the name like this.  You have to register a new name for a boat, I think.”

“You said that he was thinking of calling her the Hannah J. what —­is—­it?  Didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, it must be the same boat.  There wouldn’t be two knocking about, with a name like that.”

We found the hotel presently.  There were two elderly men sitting on the little piazza, and they hitched their chairs around and watched us through the window as soon as we entered the office.  This room was empty, but after we had stamped and coughed a good deal, a small man in shirt-sleeves came from some room in the back.

“Is Captain Bannister here?”

“Bannister?  Oh, no, Bannister aint here!”

This in a tone which was as much as to say:  “I wouldn’t have a man like that on the premises.”

“Well, he was here, wasn’t he?”

“Was here?  Oh, yes, he was here,—­last night.”

(As if to say:  “He was here until we got on to him.”)

“Has he gone away?”

“Gone away?  Oh, yes, he’s gone away.”

This seemed to strike the two men on the piazza—­whose ears were almost stretching through the window—­as a joke.  They both laughed uproariously.  The hotel man was evidently unwilling to give up any information until it was wrenched out of him, bit by bit.  Mr. Daddles continued the cross-examination.

“Do you know where he’s gone?”

“Oh, he went away before six o’clock.”

“Well, do you know where he went?”

“Where?  Oh, he told me—­Joe, where’d he say he was goin’?”

One of the men on the piazza answered: 

“Big Duck.”

“Big Duck Island?”

“Yup.  He—­”

The other man broke in.  “He says to me that he was goin’ to Rogerses’.”

“Rogerses’?  Where’s that?”

“Rogerses’ Island,” said the hotel man, “’bout three miles t’other side of Bailey’s Harbor.”

One of the men now came in from the piazza, and after much questioning we found out all they knew.  Captain Bannister had arrived in Lanesport sometime the latter part of the afternoon.  He left the “Hoppergrass” at the wharf, and came up into the town.  When he returned, an hour later, his boat had disappeared.  One or two men had seen it sail down the river, but in the fog had not noticed who was on board.  The Captain “flew round like a coot shot in the head,” declared our informant.  He went from one wharf to another, started to hire a yacht and go in pursuit, but gave up the plan.  Then he went to the police-station.