And yet the schooner speeds through the sea, her bows down, throwing off clouds of foam, and leaving a long, milky, undulating trail in her wake.
Is she a steam-yacht?
No--there is not a smokestack about her.

Is she propelled by electricity--by a battery of accumulators, or by piles of great power that work her screw and send her along at this rate?
I can come to no other conclusion.

In any case she must be fitted with a screw, and by leaning over the stern I shall be able to see it, and can find out what sets it working afterwards.
The man at the wheel watches me ironically as I approach, but makes no effort to prevent me from looking over.
I gaze long and earnestly, but there is no foaming and seething of the water such as is invariably caused by the revolutions of the screw--naught but the long white furrow that a sailing vessel leaves behind is discernible in the schooner's wake.
Then, what kind of a machine is it that imparts such a marvellous speed to the vessel?
As I have already said, the wind is against her, and there is a heavy swell on.
I must--I will know.

No one pays the slightest attention, and I again go forward.
As I approach the forecastle I find myself face to face with a man who is leaning nonchalantly on the raised hatchway and who is watching me.
He seems to be waiting for me to speak to him.
I recognize him instantly.

He is the person who accompanied the Count d'Artigas during the latter's visit to Healthful House.