There was silence between man and boy for a space, and then Blake, understanding how hard it would be to keep the news from Joe, said:

“I’ll have to tell him something, Mr. Stanton. Joe will want to know why his father went away, and where. Isn’t there any way in which we may get a clue to the direction he took?”

“Wait a minute until I think, lad,” said the old man. “It may be that we can find a clue, after all. Nate Duncan left some papers behind. I haven’t looked at ’em, not wishing to make trouble, but there may be a clue there. I’ll get ’em.”

“And I’ll call Joe in to go over them with me,” said Blake. “He’ll want to see them.”

“But, mind you, not a word about what I’ve told you.”

“No, I’ll keep quiet,” promised Blake. “I’ll call him in, while you get the papers.”Going to the door of the little cottage, Blake called to his chum.

“What is it?” asked Joe, eagerly. “Was there some mistake? Is my father somewhere around here, after all?”

“Well, we hope to find him,” said Blake, with an assurance he did not feel. “Look here, Joe, your father went away rather suddenly, it seems, but you mustn’t think anything about that. He’s been traveling all over, you know, looking for you and your sister——”

“Sister?” cried Joe.

“Yes, you had a sister, though I can’t get much information about her. Neither could your uncle tell you, as you remember.”

“That’s right. Oh, if I could only find dad and her!” and Joe sighed. “But maybe she isn’t alive.”

“It’s this way,” went on Blake, and he told as much of the lighthouse keeper’s story as was wise, keeping from Joe all information about the wreckers. “Now, your father may have heard of some new clue about you,” continued Joe’s chum, “and he may have gone to hunt that up,” which was true enough, for with the warning that he was likely to be arrested as a criminal, there may have come to Mr. Duncan some information about his missing children.“But in that case,” asked Joe, “why didn’t he leave some word as to where he was going?”

“He may have been in too much of a hurry,” suggested Blake, realizing that he was going to have considerable difficulty in keeping Joe from guessing the truth.

“Well, perhaps that’s so,” agreed the lad. “But maybe Mr. Stanton has some clues.”

The lighthouse keeper came downstairs at this moment with a bundle of papers in his hand.

“Here is all I found,” he said. “It isn’t much, but among the things he left behind is the letter you wrote,” and he extended to Joe the missive the lad had penned in such hope at Flagstaff.

“Poor Dad,” murmured Joe. “I wonder if he will ever get this?”

Together he and Blake looked over the documents. As the keeper had said, there was not much. Some memoranda, evidently made as different clues came to him; paid bills, some business letters, a few notes, and that was all.

“What’s this?” exclaimed Blake, as he read one letter. “It seems to be from some shipping agent in San Francisco, saying he can place—why, Joe, it’s to your father, and it says he can have a place as mate any time he wants it. Was he a sailor?” he asked, eagerly, turning to the keeper.

“So I understood.”“Then this is the very thing we’re looking for!” cried Blake. “Look, it is dated only a short time before he left. I see now,” and he gave the lighthouse keeper a peculiar look, when Joe was not glancing in his direction. “Mr. Duncan got word that he could ship as a mate, and he left in a hurry.”

“Maybe so,” assented Mr. Stanton.

“Perhaps he had some new clue about you, Joe, or possibly about your sister,” suggested Blake, hoping his chum would come to take this view.

“Maybe,” assented Joe. “But it’s queer he didn’t leave some word, or tell someone he was going.”

“He may not have had time,” went on Blake. “Vessels have to sail in a hurry, lots of times, and he may have had to act quickly.”

“It’s possible,” admitted the keeper.

“Then I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” continued Blake. “We’ll go to San Francisco the first chance we get, and see this shipping agent. He may be able to put us on the right track.”

“I guess it’s the only thing to do,” agreed Joe, in despondent tones. “Poor Dad! I nearly found him, and then I lost him again.”

They looked over the other papers. None offered as promising a clue as did the agent’s letter, and this Joe took with him, also his own to his father.

“Maybe I’ll get a chance to deliver it to him myself,” he said, with a smile that had little of hope in it.

There was nothing more to be learned at the lighthouse. The boys left, after thanking the keeper, and promising to come and see him again. As they went out Mr. Stanton gave Blake a little sign, warning him not to disclose the secret.

“Well, failure number one,” said Joe, as they took a carriage back to San Diego, it being rather late.

“Yes, but we’ll win out yet!” declared Blake, with a confidence he did not feel. “We’ll find your father and your sister, too.”

“I’ll have more relations than you, Blake, if I keep on, and can find them,” said Joe, after a bit.

“That’s right. Well, I wish you luck,” and Blake wondered if Joe would be glad he had found his father, after all. “Wrecking is a black business,” mused the lad. “But, like Mr. Stanton, I’m not going to think Joe’s father guilty until I have to. I wonder, though, if the story is known about San Diego? If it is I’ll have trouble keeping it from Joe.”

But Joe’s chum found he had little to fear on this score, for, on getting back to the quarters of the theatrical troupe, the boys were told that the next day they would all take up their residence in a small seacoast settlement, out on the main ocean beach, away from the land-locked bay and where bigger waves could be pictured.

“And there we’ll enact the first of the sea dramas,” said Mr. Ringold.

“And all get drowned,” murmured C. C., in his gloomiest tone.

“I’ll wash your face with snow—the first time it snows in this summer land—if you don’t be more cheerful,” threatened Miss Shay.

“Well, something will happen, I’m sure,” declared C. C. “When do we move?”

“To-morrow,” said Mr. Ringold, while Blake and Joe told Mr. Hadley of their poor success in finding Mr. Duncan. The photographer, as did the other members of the company, sympathized with the lad. Mr. Ringold said that as soon as they got settled the boys could go to San Francisco to look up the shipping agent.

The transfer to the small seacoast settlement was a matter of some work, but in a week all was arranged, and the members of the company were settled in a large, comfortable house, close to the beach.

“And now for some rehearsals,” said Mr. Ringold, one morning. “One of the scenes calls for a shipwrecked man coming ashore in a small boat. Now, C. C., I guess you’ll have to be the man this time, as I need the others for shore parts. Get the cameras ready.”

“I—I’m to be shipwrecked; am I?” inquired Mr. Piper. “Do I have to fall overboard?”

“Not unless you want to,” said Mr. Ringold, consulting the manuscript of the play.

“Then I’m not going to, for I’ll catch my death of cold if I do.”

“Hum! I’m glad he didn’t have any other objections,” murmured the theatrical man. “This is going to be easy.”

The preparations were made, it being customary to rehearse the scenes and acts before “filming” them to secure good results. A boat was launched, after some trouble on account of the surf, and with the aid of some fishermen, “C. C. was finally sent to sea,” which was a joke, as Blake remarked.

“And now come in with the waves,” ordered Mr. Ringold, who was directing the drama. “Hang over the edge of the boat, C. C., and look as if you hadn’t had any food or water for a week.”

“They say an actor never eats, anyhow,” murmured Mr. Hadley, who, with the boys, was ready with the cameras; “so I guess C. C. won’t have to pretend much.”

“Come on!” cried Mr. Ringold. “Hang more over the side of the boat.”

C. C. Piper obeyed orders—too literally, in fact. He leaned so far over that, a moment later, when there came a particularly large wave, the craft slewed sideways, got into the trough, and an instant later capsized.

“He’s overboard!” yelled Miss Lee.

“Save him!” cried Miss Shay.

“Stop the cameras,” came from Mr. Ringold. “We don’t want that in the picture.”

“Man overboard!” bawled the fishermen, who were interestedly watching the scene. “Launch the motor boat!”