Mr. Harland looked amused.

"There must have been SOME wind, Derrick,"--he answered--"Only it
wasn't boisterous enough for a hardy salt like you to feel it."

"There wasn't a breath,"--declared Derrick, firmly--"Not enough to
blow a baby's curl."

"Then how did she get here?" asked Dr. Brayle.

Captain Derrick's lifted eyebrows expressed his inability to solve
the enigma.

"I said just now if there was a wind it wasn't a wind belonging to
this world--"

Mr. Harland turned upon him quickly.

"Well, there are no winds belonging to other worlds that will ever
disturb OUR atmosphere,"--he said--"Come, come, Derrick, you don't
think that yacht is a ghost, do you?--a sort of 'Flying Dutchman'
spectre?"

Captain Derrick smiled broadly.

"No, sir--I don't! There's flesh and blood aboard--I've seen the men
hauling down canvas, and I know that. But the way she sailed in
bothers me."

"All that electric light is rather ostentatious,"--said Dr. Brayle--