"Seems something in this business after all," remarked Tregarthen; then, as his eye caught the blurred type of the "Stop Press News," he read:--
_Zietan_ incident cable _via_ Lowestoft reports that all traces of phenomenon have vanished. Compasses and electrical gear in normal working order.
The young officer folded up the paper and thrust it under the straps of his portmanteau. The cheap novel remained unread. For the rest of the journey Tregarthen was in a brown study, cudgelling his brains as to what he would do should he ever find himself in command of a vessel under similar circumstances. It was growing dark as the train drew up at Poole. Alighting, Gerald, rapidly passing along the crowded platform, sought his old school-fellow. But no Jack Stockton was to be seen.
INTRODUCES THE "PLAYMATE" AND HER SKIPPER
I SUPPOSE I must try and find the _Playmate_," thought Tregarthen. "Perhaps Jack has not received my wire. I hope he hasn't cleared out without waiting for me, though I shouldn't be surprised. It used to be a favourite trick of his not to wait a minute for anyone."
When Tregarthen had reached the quayside he found that the whole length of the spacious wharf was lined with a double row of coasting brigs, schooners, lighters, and the ubiquitous Rochester barges. On the Hamworthy side the feeble glimmer of the quay lights faintly illuminated the white hulls of a few yachts, but the sub-lieutenant knew that they were of too great a tonnage to correspond with his ideas of the _Playmate_.
Where, then, in all that jumble of floating craft, was Stockton's yacht to be found?
Gerald Tregarthen was at a loss. Beyond a few half intoxicated seamen lurching back to their vessels the quay was deserted. He was on the point of making for the nearest hotel when a voice came apparently from beneath his feet.
The young officer looked down. Close to where he stood a flight of stone steps led to the water's edge. It was nearly low tide, and the steps looked particularly uninviting in the dim reflection from the oily water. At the foot of the landing, with barely a couple of inches to spare betwixt the cutwater of a brig and the ponderous rudder of a Thames barge, was a boat, its occupant holding on to a ringbolt in the stonework by means of a short boat-hook.