All night he tossed sleeplessly on his uncomfortable bed, striving in vain to unravel the mystery in which the fate of his nephew and of Major Caspar's raft had become enshrouded.
In the morning he strolled undecidedly down to the wharf-boat, and, missing his skiff, asked the watchman, who was just going off duty, what he had done with it.
"Why, there it is, sir, just where you left it," answered the man, in a surprised tone, pointing to a skiff that Billy Brackett was certain he had never seen before.
"That is not my boat," he said.
"It is the one you came in last night," answered the watchman.

"And here is the coat you left in it.

I took the liberty of bringing it in out of the dew." The young engineer looked at the coat the man was holding towards him, and shook his head.
"That is not mine, either," he said.
"Whose is it, then ?" "I'm sure I don't know.

You'd better look in the pockets.

They may contain some clew." Acting upon this suggestion the watchman thrust his hand into a breast-pocket of the coat and drew forth a note-book.