boat undoubtedly belonged to the Hatton yacht.
Most of the neighboring fishermen had gathered about the plane, but one weatherbeaten old fellow sat mending a net by the waterside, stopping every now and then to cast uneasy glances at the trio pow-wowing over the lifeboat.
"Who's this smashed-in boat belong to?"
"My boat," shouted back the old man in a tone that implied, "And what business is it of yours?"
"Wouldn't mind coming over and telling us where you got it, would you?" urged Nash.
The fisherman arose and walked over deliberately.
"Go ahead and tell him, Mr. Hall," coaxed Nash when the man arrived. "He's all right."
"Buy it?" quizzed Hardy, in a hurry to be done with the business and off on his errand.
"No, I didn't," was the brusque reply. "It ain't yourn, is it? What you askin' fer?"
"To come right to the point, my friend, this boat here looks very much like one I've seen before, and I'd just like for curiosity to know how it came here."
"They're all right," encouraged Nash once
