"Ah," said my father, "and do you not? And whose boat may she be, Henry?"

"Two days ago she sailed from Boston for France. She belongs to Jason
Hill," I told him; and, a little puzzled, I looked again at the low dunes
and the marshes by the harbor mouth.

"I think," my father murmured half to himself, "that perhaps after all I
should have killed him. Brutus!"

Brutus, who had watched the scene with the same aloof politeness that he
might have watched guests at the dinner table, moved quickly forward.

"Has no word come yet?"

Brutus grinned and shook his head.

"The devil," said my father. "Aiken was here last evening, and got the
message I left him?"

Brutus nodded, and my father compressed his lips. Apparently deep in
thought, he took a few unhurried steps across the room, and glanced
about him critically.

"A busy day, my son," he said, "a very busy day, and a humorous one as
well. They think they can get the paper. They think--but they are all
mistaken."

"You are sure?" I inquired.