In this particular case, the cock crowed, not thrice, but once. Indeed, the single triumphant call was all that was necessary. It was as if the vainglorious fowl was aware that he had been a figure in a tragedy, as had been no other of his kind since the time when Saint Peter made craven denial of his Master.

There was no possibility that Captain Ichabod could be deceived as to the identity of the creature's voice. As the boat drew in toward the shore to investigate the significance of the white flag that had fluttered from the sand dunes and had then so abruptly vanished, the old fisherman, hearing the cock's crow, turned to the detective and Roy Morton, and spoke vehemently:

"Men, did ye hear that? Whar are your ears? I'll jest be John Browned if that wa'n't my ole rooster Shrimp a-crowin'! Why, men, I declare to goodness if it ain't a fact as sure as shootin'. I'd know that bird's hide in the tan-yard with the feathers off. It's him, men—an' if he's thar so is the gal!"

The all-important feature of the chase with Ichabod hitherto had been to find Ethel. Not only on his own account, but for the sake of Roy, whose deep distress aroused his sympathies. Now, however, when he heard his old feathered friend lift up a lusty voice as if in salutation, the fisherman for the time being forgot the graver aspect of their quest. A new emotion dominated him: He must see Shrimp—at once! Forthwith, then, he dropped the sheets, and sculled vigorously toward that part of the beach whence had issued the sound of the crowing.

When the boat grounded, Ichabod excitedly hastened forward, climbing the steep slope of the nearest dune. Roy and Van Dusen followed him, for they believed in the accuracy of the old man's observation that the girl must in truth be somewhere near his pet.

As the three reached a cleared space above the thick growth of bushes about the base and sides of the dune, Uncle Icky, who was some distance in advance of the others, stopped short. He stood for a few seconds in silence, peering intently ahead. Then he cried out in a loud voice:

"Wall, I'll be eternally damned!" He pointed a bony forefinger. "Now, what do you men think o' that? It's him, all right, but, by cracky, the ole devil, as well as myself, has changed consider'ble in his attitude toward the other sex, since last we met! Don't ye see, men, he's a-scratchin' an' a-kityka-dawin' thar fer three hens!"

Both the old man's hearers burst out laughing over this comparison of the rooster's conduct to Ichabod's own, of which they had been given a full account during their voyaging together.

"Wait a minute, folks," he called out as he trotted forward, "till I gits my Shrimp, an' then I'll jine ye!"

Ichabod gave his whistle, so familiar to the rooster, as he walked forward. The feathered ex-alarm clock, now become a gay Lothario, looked up from his pecking and scratching. Then, seeing his old Island companion approaching, Shrimp hurriedly scurried off into the thick growth of bushes, and as he went he issued an authoritative call to the hens to follow, to which they rendered prompt obedience. Ichabod halted, and stared for a moment in dismay. He made no attempt to continue the pursuit. He realized that the old rooster had had a taste of real life, like himself he had come to realize the mistake of living alone on an island of sandy waste, far from the society of the gentler sex. As the old fisherman returned to his companions he spoke gravely:

"Wall, I don't know as how I can blame him. If he's gittin' as much pleasure out o' his new life as I aim to git out o' mine, I don't believe as how he orter be disturbed. He sure was a faithful alarmer, an' I don't see any reason why he shouldn't make a good husband an' father o' a family."

The three now descended to the shore line. They had made their landing in such haste that they had failed to see the little tender lying in the cove a short distance below. Then, presently, the eyes of the three fell on the shack. Roy halted as abruptly as had Ichabod at the sight of Shrimp, though with a vastly more poignant emotion—for in the window he saw the face of the girl he loved. As he saw the smile of recognition and blissful welcoming, he set out on a run for the cabin. A moment later he disappeared within it.

Ichabod and the detective discreetly refrained from following Roy at once. They gave their attention instead to a sailboat that was approaching. They took the newcomer—for the boat had only a single occupant—for a fisherman seeking to win the reward, though they could not understand why he should be coming from the northward. The watchers were still further puzzled when the boat, instead of bearing shoreward, abruptly shifted its course and swung in a wide circle, returning the way it had come. The two men then walked to the tender, which, as it was now low tide, lay fully exposed on the beach. At sight of the shorn propeller, they understood the reason of the interrupted voyage. But they could make no guess as to the whereabouts of Doctor Garnet himself. They waited with feverish impatience for the appearance of Roy, with such information as he should have gathered from Ethel. In the meantime, they kept a sharp lookout all about, in the hope that the physician, being only temporarily absent, might reappear at any moment.

At last, Roy issued from the cabin. He carried a chair in his left hand, while his right arm supported his betrothed. He placed the chair on the shady side of the shack, and tenderly bestowed the girl in it.

Ichabod and Van Dusen came forward. Ethel greeted the detective warmly as an old acquaintance, and thanked him gratefully for the part he had played in the rescue. But she looked with bewilderment on the leathery visage of the fisherman. She was sure she had seen the face of the old man somewhere once before, but she could by no means find a precise recollection of time or place. Then Roy spoke in introduction of Ichabod to her, and explained the mystery.

"This is Captain Ichabod Jones. To him, Ethel, you owe your life. It was he who rescued you from the wreck of The Isabel, and faced death himself to do it. To him also we owe our discovery of you here."

Ethel bestowed so radiant a smile on the old fisherman that he fairly thrilled with pleasure.

"You must tell me the whole story some time soon," the girl said, after she had uttered a few phrases of earnest thanks.

"Miss Marion," replied Captain Ichabod, "jest the pullin' o' a poor drowned woman out o' the water arter the waves has laid her right smack at your feet, an' then a-pumpin' a little swallered brine out o' her lungs don't call for no fuss like what you an' Mr. Morton makes over it. It'd be a mighty-sorry human what'd a let you lay thar an' die. That's the way I feel 'bout it. 'S'fur's findin' o' ye here is consarned, that hain't so."

He pointed at Roy as he continued:

"Thar's the feller what found ye, an' if thar's any other thanks a-comin' they'd orter go to an old rooster, what used to live with me. Which flighty bird eloped with you an' that tallow-faced Doctor. His crowin' did the business."

The Captain chuckled.

"An', by cracky, I'm a-thinkin' from what we jest see that he's already got his reward!"

Van Dusen, who had been showing signs of restlessness, now interrupted.

"I have a professional reputation at stake," he declared, a little grimly. "I quite understand that you two lovers are perfectly happy in being thus reunited again. But there still remains a duty to perform. I must catch Garnet. Please, Miss Marion, tell me where he has gone, what his intentions are."

"He is off on a mission of mercy," Ethel replied. "He has gone to get a boat to come back here for me."

She explained in detail concerning the physician's project.

"I expect him back at any minute," she concluded. "If you folks will sit down and wait patiently, your quarry will come to you."

Van Dusen asked some further questions, which the girl answered frankly, to all appearance. The detective was convinced that he had, as she suggested, only to remain in waiting at the shack, to make sure of capturing his man within a few hours. He dismissed his anxiety concerning Garnet, and for the gratification of his curiosity, begged for a full narrative of the events that had happened after Ethel regained consciousness.

The girl did not demur, but told the whole story of her dreadful experiences. The three men sat spellbound as they listened to her dramatic recital. They were thrilled by that climax when in the desolate hut the physician at last made his full confession to the girl.

As Ethel came to the end of her account, Van Dusen addressed Roy with a note of self-gratulation in his voice.

"Now, what do you think, Roy Morton? You remember that night on The Hialdo when I gave you my opinion of this affair? You remember, I said that such cases are rare, but that in the end we should find this whole affair to be the work of a drug-crazed man, dominated by a fixed idea—that he must steal this young lady away, and, by force if necessary, make her a sharer with him in a drug orgy. I told you, too, that I did not believe her life or person in any danger whatever, unless through accident. And there's another point: This Doctor Garnet should go to a mad-house, rather than to prison and the electric chair."

The day was drawing to a close now, with the sun hardly an hour high above the trees that lined the western horizon. Uncle Ichabod declared that Garnet should have sent help long before, if he had safely reached Portsmouth. The fisherman gave it as his opinion that the physician must have met with serious trouble on the way, or that he must have deliberately deserted Miss Marion. He further suggested that he and the detective should leave Roy and Ethel for an hour or two, in order to search along the shore for a possible trace of the missing man. But he amended this plan a moment later by advising that Roy should take the girl in the skiff and make sail for the yacht, which was vaguely visible at anchor some miles away. Afterward, a seaman could bring the skiff back for himself and Van Dusen.

This proposal met with ready acceptance by all concerned. The lovers embarked and sailed away while the fisherman and the detectives set forth on their scouting expedition along the shore. But before starting, Ichabod pulled off his shoes and stockings and rolled up his trousers. It was his custom to go barefooted, and he had no mind now to be handicapped in the long tramp by the foolishness of footgear—suited only to town and the presence of Sarah Porter.

As he passed among the dunes, Captain Jones heard once again Shrimp's lusty crowing. He whistled, but the bird remained invisible, only crowed again, with a note that sounded almost derisive in the ears of his old master.

Ichabod grieved a little over the defection of his old friend. Then, quickly, his mood lightened. He would have through the years to come a companion infinitely more desirable.