the slippery log siding of the dock, watching while the little drama
played itself out, so far as his present knowledge could go. His
judgment still hung in suspense, but his senses quickened themselves to
detect, if possible, what the outcome might be. He saw the tender
approach the boat, lie alongside; saw one sailor after another descend
the rope ladder, saw a limp, inert mass lifted from the rowboat and
carried up, as if it had been merchandise, to the deck of the yacht;
saw two men follow the limp bundle over the gunwale; and finally saw
the boat herself drawn up and placed in her davits. Hambleton's mind
at last slid to its conclusion, like a bolt into its socket.

"They're kidnapping her, without a doubt," he said slowly. For a
moment he was like one struck stupid. Slowly he turned to the dock,
looking up and down its orderly but unprepossessing clutter. Dim
lights shone here and there, and a few hands were at work at the
farther end. The dull silence, the unresponsive preoccupation of
whatever life was in sight, made it all seem as remote from him and
from this tragedy as from the stars.

In fact, it was impersonal and remote to such a degree that Hambleton's
practical mind, halted yet an instant, in doubt whether there were not
some plausible explanation. The thought came back to him suddenly that
the motor-car must be somewhere in the neighborhood if his conclusion
were correct.

On the instant his brain became active again. It did not take long, as
a matter of fact, to find the car; though when he stumbled on it,
turned about and neatly stowed away close beside the partitioning wall,
he gave a start. It was such a tangible evidence of what had
threatened to grow vague and unreal on his hands. He squeezed himself