There was a moment's silence. Then, "I suppose 'launch' is what
father called it," said his companion. He could have sworn that
there was cool amusement in her tone. "I see your difficulty," she
went on. "But, fortunately, it has a name of its own. It is called
the Tillicum.'"

"As such I salute it!" said Spence, gravely.

The other made no attempt to continue the conversation. She retired
into the fastness of the green cloak, leaving the professor to
ponder the situation. It seemed on the face of it an absurd
situation enough, yet there should certainly be nothing absurd in
it. Spence felt a somewhat bulky package of letters even now in the
pocket of his coat. These letters were real and sensible enough.
They comprised his correspondence with one Dr. Herbert Farr,
Vancouver, B. C. As letters they were quite charming. The earlier
ones had dealt with the professor's pet subject, primitive
psychology. The later ones had been more personal. Spence found
himself remembering such phrases as "my humble but picturesque
home," "my Chinese servant, a factotum extraordinary," "my young
daughter who attends to all my simple wants" and "my secretary on
whose efficient aid I more and more depend--"

"I suppose there is a secretary?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh yes," answered the green cloak, "I'm it."

"And, 'a young daughter who attends'--"