"The yacht I belong to is some distance from here. Good night!"

Nor did Captain Jack linger in the village. Had anyone stood still in
that street and stared after Benson, he would have seen the boy vanish
in the darkness.

Captain Jack, however, had not disappeared from the scene. He was
merely shifting to the part of it that interested him most. Cautiously
he stole out along the further side of a ridge of land, toward the
rickety old house on the point.

"Not a sign of a light, now," breathed the submarine boy. "If Millard
was really there, I hope he hasn't had time to get away for good."

All was silent and dark about the old house, as Captain Jack stole
closer. At nearer range he made the circuit of the house, only to
find every window shuttered, and the place as dismal as the grave.

"I'm afraid the game has escaped," muttered Benson, with a sinking
feeling at his heart. "Yet he didn't escape, by sea or land, while we
were watching outside the village. And it was just at dark that the
storekeeper saw a light here. I wonder if it would be easy to--"

Right there Jack Benson's train of thought broke off. From the opposite
side of the house came a sound exactly like that of the opening and
closing of a door.

"Can that be our man coming out?" wondered Skipper Jack.

He started cautiously around the house, but soon drew back around the