“You are determined to go?”

“I am.”

“I shall say no more, but I shall watch.”

“Yes, Renie, do so; and when the yacht comes sailing up the bay, you may know that I come on her.”

“I shall not watch for the return of the yacht,” said the girl in a sad, despairing tone.

“What will you do?”

“Wait on the beach to see what the waves will bring me.  If, when the deed is done, the tide be flowing in, I may gain something from the waves; but if the tide is on the ebb, I shall never gaze on your face again.”

There was no mistaking the girl’s weird meaning, and her words were practical, as she well knew the results which under certain circumstances might follow the tidal conditions.

Spencer Vance saw that it was useless to waste further words with Renie and he said

“A few hours will tell the tale, Renie, and—­”

The detective did not complete the sentence; voices were heard and Renie exclaimed: 

“You and I must not be seen talking together; farewell, and if we never meet again on earth, may we meet where there are no clouds, no shadows, no mysteries.”  The girl moved away and left the detective standing alone on the beach.  The sun had gone down, the moon was just rising out of the sea, and the whole surrounding scene was impressive and one of solemn grandeur.

The detective stood motionless, and the ceaseless murmur of the waves, as they broke upon the shore sounded like a requiem in his ears; but not once did he waver in his purpose.  It might be that Renie would prove a true prophet, and if the tide served right those very waves, or rather their successors, might cast his body upon the shore; but despite all, he was determined to sail on the “Nancy” that night to win or die.

Two hours later there was quite a bustle on board the yacht as she was being prepared to sail away.

The trip of the “Nancy” did not as a rule, exceed ten or fifteen hours, as she only ran twenty or thirty miles directly off the coast, where she cruised around waiting for the signal to flash across the water front some incoming vessel, said signal being an intimation as to the character of the craft.

Ike Denman, as commander of the “Nancy,” was a different man from Ike Denman carousing with the crew ashore.

The “Nancy” was what nautical men would call a magnificent craft, and landsmen would naturally dub her a “daisy.”  She had been built as a sea-going boat, in the most substantial manner, and was indeed a stanch little mistress of the sea.

It was a beautiful evening as the mainsail was hoisted away and the gallant boat glided over the waters of the bay across the bar, and through the ruffled channel out to sea.

The detective had weighed well the words of the beautiful Renie, and was on the watch.  Her suggestion was apt, and, as the detective thought over matters, he came to think that certain little indexes pointed toward a confirmation of her suspicions.