He snorted something resembling a laugh.

"Aye. It were most necessary," he said. "And almost too late."

We drew heavily upon the oars, and after several minutes I could discern nothing but fog in every direction. The ape pushed its way between us, moved forward into the prow and crouched there. Every now and then it made a gesture which seemed to mean something to my rescuer, and he corrected our course slightly on these occasions.

"Peters," he said suddenly. "Dirk Peters, at your service. We can shake hands another time."

I grunted. Then, "You already know my name," I said.

"True," he acknowledged. I waited for several strokes, but he did not elaborate. The fog remained heavy.

The ape gestured again.

"Hard to port. A pair should do it. I'll ease up and you pull," Dirk said then.

I complied, and when course was corrected, we resumed our normal rowing, I asked, "Where are we headed?"

Following a two-stroke pause, he replied, "There's a gentleman aboard a certain ship as has expressed a devout wish to see you. The same gentleman as sent me and Emerson ashore to look after your interests."

"It seems an awful lot of people know who I am, knew where I was going to be and knew when I'd be there."

He nodded slowly.

"So it seems," he said.

A little later, the ape uttered a low sound and bounced several times in place.

"What's that, Emerson?" Dirk asked. Then, "Oh. Oh-oh," he uttered and suddenly we were backing water.

There followed some eerie echoes, and then a great dark shape loomed ahead and sliding to starboard. It was the ship from which my pursuers had come. Even as we turned we drew nearer, and I was able to make out her name. She was the Evening Star.

Nearer still. Then through a lighted port above the poop deck, I saw a dear, familiar form: Annie. She stood gazing out into the fog, not even turning her head in my direction. In fact, something about her demeanor and her mien gave me the impression that she was sleepwalking, entranced, drugged. A