"Subscribe, subscribe!" was the cry. "How much?"
"Order, gentlemen, order!" said Sir Walter, rising and holding a bottle
aloft. "A black person by the name of Friday, a valet of our friend Mr.
Crusoe, has just handed me this bottle, which he picked up ten minutes ago
on the bank of the river a few miles distant. It contains a bit of paper,
and may perhaps give us a clew based upon something more substantial than
even the wonderful theories of our new brother Holmes."
[Illustration: A BLACK PERSON BY THE NAME OF FRIDAY FINDS A BOTTLE]
A deathly silence followed the chairman's words, as Sir Walter drew a
cork-screw from his pocket and opened the bottle. He extracted the paper,
and, as he had surmised, it proved to be a message from the missing
vessel. His face brightening with a smile of relief, Sir Walter read,
aloud:
"Have just emerged into the Atlantic. Club in hands of Kidd and forty
ruffians. One hundred and eighty-three ladies on board. Headed for the
Azores. Send aid at once. All well except Xanthippe, who is seasick in the
billiard-room. (Signed) Portia."
"Aha!" cried Hawkshaw. "That shows how valuable the Holmes theory is."
"Precisely," said Holmes. "No woman knows anything about seafaring, but
Portia is right. The ship is headed for the Azores, which is the first
tack needed in a windward sail for London under the present conditions.
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