presence of two personal acquaintances so different as Vane and
the girl. As he skirted a low hedge of laurel, an enormously tall
young man leapt over it, stood in front of him, and almost fell
on his neck as if seeking to embrace him.

"Don't you know me?" almost sobbed the young man, who was in the
highest spirits. "Ain't I written on your heart, old boy? I say,
what did you do with my yacht?"

"Take your arms off my neck," said Turnbull, irritably. "Are you
mad?"

The young man sat down on the gravel path and went into ecstasies
of laughter. "No, that's just the fun of it--I'm not mad," he
replied. "They've shut me up in this place, and I'm not mad." And
he went off again into mirth as innocent as wedding-bells.

Turnbull, whose powers of surprise were exhausted, rolled his
round grey eyes and said, "Mr. Wilkinson, I think," because he
could not think of anything else to say.

The tall man sitting on the gravel bowed with urbanity, and said:
"Quite at your service. Not to be confused with the Wilkinsons of
Cumberland; and as I say, old boy, what have you done with my
yacht? You see, they've locked me up here--in this garden--and a
yacht would be a sort of occupation for an unmarried man."

"I am really horribly sorry," began Turnbull, in the last stage
of bated bewilderment and exasperation, "but really----"