Earl Derr Biggers

“ His pause to add a finishing touch to his attire was fatal to the pursuit, for when he reached the saloon deck he appeared to be alone in the world. He was fully awake now, but completely at a loss as to his course. He walked along the rail, uncertainly, toward the stern of the boat. Suddenly he stopped.
The sight that arrested him was not on the yacht, but on the calm surface of the moonlit waters. There, floating rapidly away from the Francesca on the wet Pacific, was a white shirt—a dress shirt. ”

“ His luck held even after he left her, for he found Henry Frost sitting alone over a highball in the smoking-room. His employer evinced no joy at seeing him, but Bill casually lighted a cigar and seated himself.
“Unusually smooth passage,” he remarked.
“Smooth enough,” said Mr. Frost.
“Awfully jolly cruise, it seems to me. Nothing to mar it—except, of course, the disappearance of that dollar. Too bad about that.”
“A great pity.”
The old man drained his glass and seemed about to rise.
“Just a moment, Mr. Frost,” Bill said. “You're an older man than I am, and I'd like to ask your advice.” ”

“ Why should this mysterious stranger come to claim his property in the silent night? Why, having regained it, should he toss it on the chill Pacific's bosom? Had all this any connection with Jim Batchelor's dollar? Questions—questions. All very confusing. One thing was certain—O'Meara had been lying. Bill yawned again; his berth looked warm and inviting. He rose, turned out the light, left dressing gown and slippers in the middle of the floor, and was soon deep in slumber. ”