The mere act of rapid walking had a beneficial effect upon Roy. His circulation was equalized by the exercise and something of his natural buoyancy of spirit was restored to him. The detective, too, found pleasure in the tramp, and the young men walked along many miles of the Norfolk streets, aimless, but well entertained. They swung at last into the square where a huge monument commemorates the Lost Cause and heroic dead. Suddenly Van Dusen's attention was attracted to a huge gilt sign over the door of a saloon. The outer aspect of the place was attractive enough, with something of distinctiveness about it. He turned to Roy and spoke with a tone of amused interest.

"That seems a bit different from other saloons. And I fancy the sign tells the truth." With the words, he pointed to the gilt lettering over the door.

Roy turned and looked in the direction of the detective's pointing finger. "Clam Broth King," he read, and smiled appreciatively.

"Well, old man," he remarked, "it's a straightforward way of advertising a food, as well as a novel one. And from the labels on the bottles in the window, it might prove a good place for us to visit before we start on the return journey to the yacht."

"I really know the place," Van Dusen declared, "and it is excellent. About a year ago, I was in this city on an important case. It was through the assistance of The King that I was able to locate a most valuable witness. And the probability is that but for the sign I would have missed it. I've always been a perfect fiend for clam broth. After seeing the sign, I knew, of course, there must be something particular in that line inside, and so I wandered in. Well, I was served by The King. When I first entered, I reconnoitered by stepping up to the bar and ordering a drink. Before I had a chance to question the man who was serving me, a gentlemanly appearing fellow touched me on the arm, and asked me pleasantly if I wouldn't like a cup of clam broth. He said that The King had just made a fresh batch, and that it was fine. I scrutinized the fellow closely. He had a kindly, youthful face, and his bearing was agreeable. I answered him promptly that good clam broth was just what I wished to have. 'But,' I demanded, 'who the devil is The King? It's a new one on me, to have a king for a chef.'

"The man laughed and then replied:

"'Oh, The King! Why, he's only me!'

"To cut it short, a few minutes later the broth was served to me, along with some dainty wafers, and while I drank it The King and I made friends."

Van Dusen's tone changed abruptly.

"But let's not loiter here on the outside any longer. Let us go into the presence of The King."

So it came about that Roy was duly presented to The King, and he was not disappointed in either that culinary monarch or the throne room. Perhaps his enthusiasm was the greater since he was sorely in need of food to nourish a mind and body exhausted by suffering.

The clam-broth King catered largely to the officers of ocean-going vessels. There's hardly a master sailing the main who has touched at Norfolk or anchored in Hampton Roads during recent years that has not known Harry the clam-broth King, and has called him friend. To-day the usual number of storm-bound seafaring men of the better class were gathered around the miniature tables in the place. The King was very busy indeed, passing from group to group to see that none of his friends were neglected. He greeted Van Dusen with obvious pleasure and had a welcoming smile for the newcomer when he was introduced to Roy. A moment later Van Dusen and Roy were seated at one of the tables, each with a bowl of piping-hot clam broth before him.

But before the contents of the bowls had been wholly swallowed both Roy and the detective paused to listen with avid interest to the words of a mariner seated at an adjoining table. And this is what they heard:

"Yes, boys, it was some blow and believe me it is still a-kicking up good and plenty outside the Capes. I missed the worst of it. My barometer had indicated that there was going to be some big doings long before the clouds begun to loom. I was half a mind to haul to in the hook o' the Cape at Lookout, but the sky seemed so clear and I was so near Hatteras that I made up my mind that we could get into the Roads by crowding the boilers a little. I'd a heap rather be laying up close to the King's clam broth than at that sorry, lonely, Lookout Bight. Don't understand me that I have got anything against that snug little harbor. I have every reason in the world not to have for she has saved my vessel and my carcass many's the time. The only thing is that it is such a desert place on land, not a house, not a human, with the exception of the light-keeper and his crew. When a skipper makes harbor he likes it to be where there are some shore pleasures on tap. I will venture that there was not less than half a dozen skippers put in there to get away from this blow and every last one whilst they knew the fact of that little nook o' safety being there had saved him and his ship, was just a-raring because he had not taken a chance rounding Hatteras and putting into Hampton Roads where he could run in here and gossip and inhale the fumes of King Harry's clam broth and feel the effects of his Scotch, while this-here West India hurricane wore herself out.

"You know, boys, I wish that I was a yachtsman with a good roll to back it up. Why, do you know them fellers take lots of chances and it's very seldom that they lose their craft? Of course, I have navigated over more of the sea than you, having been coasters all your lives. And do you know there is hardly a port in the world where I haven't seen a pretty, trim American yacht lying at anchor or haven't passed them on the seven seas? And never have I found one in great distress—except for being out o' some particular kind of liquor. With we fellers it's different. We're always in some kind o' trouble, not to mention being constantly out o' all kinds o' liquors. And then we are scairt o' our lives, or run aground or burn up, and so lose our master's papers, which means our job."

The speaker paused to clear his throat noisily. Then he went on:

"Speaking along these lines reminds me of a little yacht we passed on the run up, off Ocracoke Inlet. She was a long ways off shore, headed in. But I guess she made the inside all right in spite of the waves running high and breaking and the strength of the wind increasing with every flaw. Her name was The Isabel. And it's my opinion the captain of that yacht ought to be in the crazy house or dead."

Somehow at the outset, the narrative had riveted the attention of Roy and Van Dusen. It was as if their intuitions warned them that something significant was ............