"Joseph is coming in soon," said Selina, as her parents moved to the
door. "I’m expecting him every minute."

"I’ll stop and see ’im," said Mr. Russell. "There’s something I want to
speak to him about partikler."

Mr. Vickers gave a warning glance at him as he went out, and trembled as
he noted his determined aspect. In a state of considerable agitation he
took hold of his wife by the elbow and propelled her along.

It was a cold night, and a strong easterly wind had driven nearly
everybody else indoors. Mr. Vickers shivered, and, moving at a good
pace, muttered something to his astonished wife about "a good country
walk." They quitted the streets and plunged into dark lanes until, in
Mr. Vickers’s judgment, sufficient time having elapsed for the worst to
have happened, they turned and made their way to the town again.

"There’s somebody outside our house," said Mrs. Vickers, who had been in
a state of amazed discomfort the whole time.

Mr. Vickers approached warily. Two people were on the doorstep in the
attitude of listeners, while a third was making strenuous attempts to
peep through at the side of the window-blind. From inside came the sound
of voices raised in dispute, that of Selina’s being easily
distinguishable.

"What—what’s all this?" demanded Mr. Vickers, in trembling tones, as he
followed his wife inside and closed the door.

He glanced from Selina, who was standing in front of Mr. Tasker in the
manner of a small hen defending an overgrown chicken, to Mr. Russell,
who was towering above them and trying to reach him.

"What’s all this?" he repeated, with an attempt at pomposity.

The disputants all spoke at once: Mr. Russell with an air of jocular
ferocity, Miss Vickers in a voice that trembled with passion, and Mr.
Tasker speaking as a man with a grievance. Despite the confusion, Mr.
Vickers soon learned that it was a case of "two’s company and three’s
none," and that Mr. Russell, after turning a deaf ear to hints to retire
which had gradually increased in bluntness, had suddenly turned restive
and called Mr. Tasker a "mouldy image," a "wall-eyed rabbit," and divers
other obscure and contradictory things. Not content with that, he had,
without any warning, kissed Miss Vickers, and when Mr. Tasker, obeying
that infuriated damsel’s commands, tried to show him the door, had
facetiously offered to show that gentleman the wall and taken him up,
and bumped him against it until they were both tired.

"Anybody would ha’ thought I was hurting ’im by the noise he made," said
the impenitent Mr. Russell.

"I—I’m surprised at you, Bill," said Mr. Vickers, nervously.

"Put him outside," cried Selina, stamping her foot.

"You’d better get off ’ome, Bill," said Mr. Vickers, with a persuasive
wink.

"While you’re safe," added his daughter, with a threatening gesture.

"Go and get yourself ’arf a pint o’ warm lemonade," chimed in the voice
of the daring Joseph.

Mr. Russell stepped towards him, but Mr. Vickers, seizing him by the
coat, held him back and implored him to remember where he was.

"I’d bump the lot of you for two pins," said the disappointed Mr.
Russell, longingly. "And it’ud do you good; you’d all be the better for
it. You’d know ’ow to behave to people when they come in to see you,
then. As for Selina, I wouldn’t marry her now for all her money."

"Money?" said the irate Selina, scornfully. "What money?"

"The money in the paper," said Mr. Russell, with a diabolical leer in
the direction of the unfortunate Mr. Vickers. "The paper what your
father found in your box. Didn’t he tell you?"

He kicked over a chair which stood in his way and, with a reckless
swagger, strode to the door. At the "Horse and Groom," where he spent
the remainder of the evening, he was so original in his remarks upon
women that two unmarried men offered to fight him, and were only
appeased by hearing a full and true account of the circumstances
responsible for so much bitterness.

CHAPTER XVII

TRIED!" said Captain Bowers, indignantly. "I have tried, over and over
again, but it’s no use."

"Have you tried the right way?" suggested Edward Tredgold.

"I’ve tried every way," replied Captain Bowers, impatiently.

"We must think of another, then," said the imperturbable Edward. "Have
some more beef?" The captain passed his plate up. "You should have seen
her when I said that I was coming to supper with you this evening," he
said, impressively. Mr. Tredgold laid down the carving knife and fork.
"What did she say?" he inquired, eagerly. "Grunted," said the captain.
"Nonsense," said the other, sharply.

"I tell you she did," retorted the captain. "She didn’t say a word; just
grunted."

"I know what you mean," said Mr. Tredgold; "only you are not using the
right word."

"All right," said the captain, resignedly; "I don’t know a grunt when I
hear it, then; that’s all. She generally does grunt if I happen to
mention your name."

Mr. Tredgold resumed his meal and sat eating in silence. The captain,
who was waiting for more beef, became restless.

"I hope my plate isn’t in your way," he said, at last.

"Not at all," said the other, absently.

"Perhaps you’ll pass it back to me, then," said the captain.

Mr. Tredgold, still deep in thought, complied. "I wish I could persuade
you to have a little more," he said, in tones of polite regret. "I’ve
often noticed that big men are small eaters. I wonder why it is?"

"Sometimes it is because they can’t get it, I expect," said the
indignant captain.

Mr. Tredgold said that no doubt that was the case sometimes, and was
only recalled to the true position of affairs by the hungry captain
marching up to the beef and carving for himself.

"I’m sorry," he said, with a laugh. "I was thinking of something else. I
wonder whether you would let me use the crow’s-nest for a day or two?
There’s a place we have got on our hands, a mile or two out, and I want
to keep my eye on it."

The captain, his good humour quite restored, preserved his gravity with
an effort. "I don’t see that she could object to that," he said, slowly.
"It’s a matter of business, as you might say."

"Of course, I could go straight round to the back without troubling
you," resumed Mr. Tredgold. "It’s so awkward not to be able to see you
when I want to."

Captain Bowers ventured a sympathetic wink. "It’s awkward not to be able
to see anybody when you want to," he said, softly.

Two days later Miss Drewitt, peeping cautiously from her bedroom window,
saw Mr. Tredgold perched up in the crow’s-nest with the telescope. It
was a cold, frosty day in January, and she smiled agreeably as she
hurried downstairs to the fire and tried to imagine the temperature up
aloft.

Stern in his attention to duty, Mr. Tredgold climbed day after day to
his post of observation and kept a bored but whimsical eye on a deserted
cowhouse three miles off. On the fourth day the captain was out, and
Miss Drewitt, after a casual peep from the kitchen window, shrugged her
shoulders and returned to the sitting-room.

"Mr. Tredgold must be very cold up there, Miss," said Mr. Tasker,
respectfully, as he brought in the tea. "He keeps slapping his chest and
blowing on his fingers to keep ’imself warm."

Miss Drewitt said "Oh!" and, drawing the little table up to her
easy-chair, put down her book and poured herself out a cup of tea. She
had just arranged it to her taste-two lumps of sugar and a liberal
allowance of cream—when a faint rap sounded on the front door.

"Come in!" she said, taking her feet from the fender and facing about.

The door opened and revealed to her indignant gaze the figure of Mr.
Tredgold. His ears and nose were of a brilliant red and his eyes were
watering with the cold. She eyed him inquiringly.

"Good afternoon," he said, bowing.

Miss Drewitt returned the greeting.

"Isn’t Captain Bowers in?" said Mr. Tredgold, with a shade of
disappointment in his voice as he glanced around.

"No," said the girl.

Mr. Tredgold hesitated. "I was going to ask him to give me a cup of
tea," he said, with a shiver. "I’m half frozen, and I’m afraid that I
have a taken a chill."

Miss Drewitt nearly dropped her tea-cup in surprise at his audacity. He
was certainly very cold, and she noticed a little blue mixed with the
red of his nose. She looked round the cosy room and then at the open
door, which was causing a bitter draught.

"He is not in," she repeated.

"Thank you," said Mr. Tredgold, patiently. "Good afternoon."

He was so humble that the girl began to feel uncomfortable. His
gratitude for nothing reminded her of a disappointed tramp; moreover,
the draught from the door was abominable.

"I can give you a cup of tea, if you wish," she said, shivering. "But
please make haste and shut that door."

Mr. Tredgold stepped inside and closed it with alacrity, his back being
turned just long enough to permit a congratulatory wink at the
unconscious oak. He took a chair the other side of the fire, and,
extending his numbed fingers to the blaze, thanked her warmly.

"It is very kind of you," he said, as he took his cup from her. "I was
half frozen."

"I should have thought that a brisk walk home would have been better for
you," said the girl, coldly.

Mr. Tredgold shook his head dolefully. "I should probably only have had
lukewarm tea when I got there," he replied. "Nobody looks after me
properly."

He passed his cup up and began to talk of skating and other seasonable
topics. As he got warmer and his features regained their normal
colouring and his face its usual expression of cheerfulness, Miss
Drewitt’s pity began to evaporate.

"Are you feeling better?" she inquired, pointedly.

"A little," was the cautious reply. His face took on an expression of
anxiety and he spoke of a twinge, lightly tapping his left lung by way
of emphasis.

"I hope that I shall not be taken ill here," he said, gravely.

Miss Drewitt sat up with a start. "I should hope not," she said,
sharply.

"So inconvenient," he murmured.

"Quite impossible," said Miss Drewitt, whose experience led her to
believe him capable of anything.

"I should never forgive myself," he said, gently.

Miss Drewitt regarded him in alarm, and of her own accord gave him a
third cup of tea and told him that he might smoke. She felt safer when
she saw him light a cigarette, and, for fear that a worse thing might
befall her, entered amiably into conversation. She even found herself,
somewhat to her surprise, discussing the voyage and sympathising with
Mr. Tredgold in his anxiety concerning his father’s safety.

"Mrs. Chalk and Mrs. Stobell are very anxious, too," he said. "It is a
long way for a small craft like that."

"And then to find no treasure at the end of it," said Miss Drewitt, with
feminine sweetness.

Mr. Tredgold stole a look at her. "I did not mean to say that the
captain had no treasure," he said, quietly.

"You believe in it now?" said the girl, triumphantly.

"I believe that the captain has a treasure," admitted the other,
"certainly."

"Worth half a million?" persisted Miss Drewitt.

"Worth more than that," said Mr. Tredgold, gazing steadily into the
fire.

The girl looked puzzled. "More?" she said, in surprise.

"Much more," said the other, still contemplating the fire. "It is
priceless."

Miss Drewitt sat up suddenly and then let herself back slowly into the
depths of the chair. Her face turned scarlet and she hoped fervently
that if Mr. Tredgold looked at her the earth might open and swallow him
up. She began to realize dimly that in the absence of an obliging
miracle of that kind there would never be any getting rid of him.

"Priceless," repeated Mr. Tredgold, in challenging tones.

Miss Drewitt made no reply. Rejoinder was dangerous and silence
difficult. In a state of nervous indignation she rang for Mr. Tasker and
instructed him to take away the tea-things; to sweep the hearth; and to
alter the position of two pictures. By the time all this was
accomplished she had regained her wonted calm and was airing some rather
strong views on the subject of two little boys who lived with a catapult
next door but one.

CHAPTER XVIII

Month by month the Fair Emily crept down south. The Great Bear and other
constellations gave way to the stars of the southern skies, and Mr.
Chalk tried hard not to feel disappointed with the arrangement of those
in the Southern Cross. Pressed by the triumphant Brisket, to whom he
voiced his views, he had to admit that it was at least as much like a
cross as the other was a bear.

As they got farther south he had doffed his jersey and sea boots in
favour of a drill suit and bare feet. In this costume, surmounted by a
Panama hat, he was the only thing aboard that afforded the slightest
amusement to Mr. Stobell, whose temper was suffering severely under a
long spell of monotonous idleness, and whose remarks concerning the sea
and everything in connection with it were so strangely out of keeping
with the idea of a pleasure cruise that Mr. Tredgold lectured him
severely on his indiscretion.

"Stobell is no more doing this for pleasure than I am," said Captain
Brisket to Mr. Duckett. "It’s something big that’s brought him all this
way, you mark my words."

The mate nodded acquiescence. "What about Mr. Chalk?" he said, in a low
voice. "Can’t you get it out of him?"

"Shuts up like an oyster directly I get anywhere near it," replied the
captain; "sticks to it that it is a yachting trip and that Tredgold is
studying the formations of islands. Says he has got a list of them he is
going to visit."

"Mr. Tredgold was talking the same way to me," said the mate. "He says
he’s going to write a book about them when he goes back. He asked me
what I thought’ud be a good title."

"I know what would be a good title for him," growled Brisket, as Mr.
Stobell came on deck and gazed despondently over the side. "We’re
getting towards the end of our journey, sir."

"End?" said Mr. Stobell. "End? I don’t believe there is an end. I
believe you’ve lost your way and we shall go sailing on and on for
ever."

He walked aft and, placing himself in a deckchair, gazed listlessly at
the stolid figure of the helmsman. The heat was intense, and both
Tredgold and Chalk had declined to proceed with a conversation limited
almost entirely on his side to personal abuse. He tried the helmsman,
and made that unfortunate thirsty for a week by discussing the rival
merits of bitter ale in a pewter and stout in a china mug. The helmsman,
a man of liberal ideas, said, with some emotion, that he could drink
either of them out of a flower-pot.

Mr. Chalk became strangely restless as they neared their goal. He had
come thousands of miles and had seen nothing fresh with the exception of
a few flying-fish, an albatross, and a whale blowing in the distance.
Pacing the deck late one night with Captain Brisket he expressed mild
yearnings for a little excitement.

"You want adventure," said the captain, shaking his head at him. "I know
you. Ah, what a sailorman you’d ha’ made. With a crew o’ six like
yourself I’d take this little craft anywhere. The way you pick up
seamanship is astonishing. Peter Duckett swears you must ha’ been at sea
as a boy, and all I can do I can’t persuade him otherwise."

"I always had a feeling that I should like it," said Mr. Chalk,
modestly.

"Like it!" repeated the captain. "O’ course you do; you’ve got the salt
in your blood, but this peaceful cruising is beginning to tell on you.
There’s a touch o’ wildness in you, sir, that’s always struggling to
come to the front. Peter Duckett was saying the same thing only the
other day. He’s very uneasy about it."

"Uneasy!" repeated Mr. Chalk.

"Aye," said the captain, drawing a deep breath. "And if I tell you that
I am too, it wouldn’t be outside the truth."

"But why?" inquired Mr. Chalk, after they had paced once up and down the
deck in silence.

"It’s the mystery we don’t like," said Brisket, at last. "How are we to
know what desperate venture you are going to let us in for? Follow you
faithful we will, but we don’t like going in the dark; it ain’t quite
fair to us."

"There’s not the slightest danger in the world," said Mr. Chalk, with
impressive earnestness.

"But there’s a mystery; you can’t deny that," said the captain.

Mr. Chalk cleared his throat. "It’s a secret," he said, slowly.

"From me?" inquired the captain, in reproachful accents.

"It isn’t my secret," said Mr. Chalk. "So far as I’m concerned I’d tell
you with pleasure."

The captain slowly withdrew his arm from Mr. Chalk’s, and moving to the
side leaned over it with his shoulders hunched. Somewhat moved by this
display of feeling, Mr. Chalk for some time hesitated to disturb him,
and when at last he did steal up and lay a friendly hand on the
captain’s shoulder it was gently shaken off.

"Secrets!" said Brisket, in a hollow voice. "From me! I ain’t to be
trusted?"

"It isn’t my doing," said Mr. Chalk.

"Well, well, it don’t matter, sir," said the captain. "Bill Brisket must
put up with it. It’s the first time in his life he’s been suspected, and
it’s doubly hard coming from you. You’ve hurt me, sir, and there’s no
other man living could do that."

Mr. Chalk stood by in sorrowful perplexity.

"And I put my life in your hands," continued the captain, with a low,
hard laugh. "You’re the only man in the world that knows who killed
Smiling Peter in San Francisco, and I told you. Well, well!"

"But you did it in self-defence," said the other, eagerly.

"What does that matter?" said the captain, turning and walking forward,
followed by the anxious Mr. Chalk. "I’ve got no proof of it. Open your
mouth—once—and I swing for it. That’s the extent of my trust in you."

Mr. Chalk, much affected, swore a few sailorly oaths as to what he
wished might happen to him if he ever betrayed the other’s confidence.

"Yes," said the captain, mournfully, "that’s all very well; but you
can’t trust me in a smaller matter, however much I swear to keep it
secret. And it’s weighing on me in another way: I believe the crew have
got an inkling of something, and here am I, master of the ship,
responsible for all your lives, kept in ignorance."

"The crew!" ejaculated the startled Mr. Chalk.

Captain Brisket hesitated and lowered his voice. "The other night I came
on deck for a look round and saw one of them peeping down through your
skylight," he said, slowly. "I sent him below, and after he’d gone I
looked down and saw you and Mr. Tredgold and Stobell all bending over a
paper."

Mr. Chalk, deep in thought, paced up and down in silence.

"That’s a secret," said Brisket. "I don’t want them to think that I was
spying. I told you because you understand. A shipmaster has to keep his
eyes open, for everybody’s sake."

"It’s your duty," said Mr. Chalk, firmly.

Captain Brisket, with a little display of emotion, thanked him, and,
leaning against the side, drew his attention to the beauty of the stars
and sea. Impelled by the occasion and the charm of the night he waxed
sentimental, and with a strange mixture of bluffness and shyness spoke
of his aged mother, of the loneliness of a seafarer’s life, and the
inestimable boon of real friendship. He bared his inmost soul to his
sympathetic listener, and then, affecting to think from a remark of Mr.
Chalk’s that he was going to relate the secret of the voyage, declined
to hear it on the ground that he was only a rough sailorman and not to
be trusted. Mr. Chalk, contesting this hotly, convinced him at last that
he was in error, and then found that, bewildered by the argument, the
captain had consented to be informed of a secret which he had not
intended to impart.

"But, mind," said Brisket, holding up a warning finger, "I’m not going
to tell Peter Duckett. There’s no need for him to know."

Mr. Chalk said "Certainly not," and, seeing no way for escape, led the
reluctant man as far from the helmsman as possible and whispered the
information. By the time they parted for the night Captain Brisket knew
as much as the members of the expedition themselves, and, with a rare
thoughtfulness, quieted Mr. Chalk’s conscience by telling him that he
had practically guessed the whole affair from the beginning.

He listened with great interest a few days later when Mr. Tredgold,
after considering audibly which island he should visit first, gave him
the position of Bowers’s Island and began to discuss coral reefs and
volcanic action. They were now well in among the islands. Two they
passed at a distance, and went so close to a third—a mere reef with a
few palms upon it—that Mr. Chalk, after a lengthy inspection through his
binoculars, was able to declare it uninhabited.

A fourth came into sight a couple of days later: a small grey bank on
the starboard bow. Captain Brisket, who had been regarding it for some
time with great care, closed his glass with a bang and stepped up to Mr.
Tredgold.

"There she is, sir," he said, in satisfied tones.

Mr. Tredgold, who was drinking tea, put down his cup, and rose with an
appearance of mild interest. Mr. Stobell followed suit, and both gazed
in strong indignation at the undisguised excitement of Mr. Chalk as he
raced up the rigging for a better view. Tredgold with the captain’s
glass, and Stobell with an old pair of field-glasses in which he had
great faith, gazed from the deck. Tredgold was the first to speak.

"Are you sure this is the one, Brisket?" he inquired, carelessly.

"Certainly, sir," said the captain, in some surprise. "At least, it’s
the one you told me to steer for."

"Don’t look much like the map," said Stobell, in a low aside. "Where’s
the mountain?"

Tredgold looked again. "I fancy it’s a bit higher towards the middle,"
he said, after a prolonged inspection; "and, besides, it’s ’mount,’ not
’mountain.’"

Captain Brisket, who had with great delicacy drawn a little apart in
recognition of their whispers, stepped towards them again.

"I don’t know that I’ve ever seen this particular island before," he
said, frankly; "likely not; but it’s the one you told me to find.
There’s over a couple of hundred of them, large and small, knocking
about. If you think you’ve made a mistake we might try some of the
others."

"No," said Tredgold, after a pause and a prolonged inspection; "this
must be right."

Mr. Chalk came down from aloft, his eyes shining with pure joy, and
joined them.

"How long before we’re alongside?" he inquired.

"Two hours," replied the captain; "perhaps three," he added,
considering.

Mr. Chalk glanced aloft and, after a knowing question or two as to the
wind, began in a low voice to converse with his friends. Mr. Tredgold’s
misgivings as to the identity of the island he dismissed at once as
baseless. The mount satisfied him, and when, as they approached nearer,
discrepancies in shape between the island and the map were pointed out
to him he easily explained them by speaking of the difficulties of
cartography to an amateur.

"There’s our point," he said, indicating it with a forefinger, which the
incensed Stobell at once struck down. "We couldn’t have managed it
better so far as time is concerned. We’ll sleep ashore tonight in the
tent and start the search at daybreak."

Captain Brisket approached the island cautiously. To the eyes of the
voyagers it seemed to change shape as they neared it, until finally, the
Fair Emily anchoring off the reef which guarded it, it revealed itself
as a small island about three-quarters of a mile long and two or three
hundred yards wide. A beach of coral sand shelved steeply to the sea,
and a background of cocoa-nut trees and other vegetation completed a
picture on which Mr. Chalk gazed with the rapture of a devotee at a
shrine.

He went below as the anchor ran out, and after a short absence
reappeared on deck bedizened with weapons. A small tent, with blankets
and provisions, and a long deal box containing a couple of spades and a
pick, were put into one of the boats, and the three friends, after
giving minute instructions to the captain, followed. Mr. Duckett took
the helm, and after a short pull along the edge of the reef discovered
an opening which gave access to the smooth water inside.

"A pretty spot, gentlemen," he said, scanning the island closely. "I
don’t think that there is anybody on it."

"We’ll go over it first and make sure," said Stobell, as the boat’s nose
ran into the beach. "Come along, Chalk."

He sprang out and, taking one of the guns, led the way along the beach,
followed by Mr. Chalk. The men looked after them longingly, and then, in
obedience to the mate, took the stores out of the boat and pitched the
tent. By the time Chalk and Stobell returned they were seated in the
boat and ready to depart.

A feeling of loneliness came over Mr. Chalk as he watched the receding
boat. The schooner, riding at anchor half a mile outside the reef, had
taken in her sails and presented a singularly naked and desolate
appearance. He wondered how long it would take the devoted Brisket to
send assistance in case of need, and blamed himself severely for not
having brought some rockets for signalling purposes. Long before night
came the prospect of sleeping ashore had lost all its charm.

"One of us ought to keep watch," he said, as Stobell, after a heavy
supper followed by a satisfying pipe, rolled himself in a blanket and
composed himself for slumber.

Mr. Stobell grunted, and in a few minutes was fast asleep. Mr. Tredgold,
first blowing out the candle, followed suit, while Mr. Chalk, a prey to
vague fears, sat up nursing a huge revolver.

The novelty of the position, the melancholy beat of the surge on the
farther beach, and faint, uncertain noises all around kept him awake. He
fancied that he heard stealthy footsteps on the beach, and low, guttural
voices calling among the palms. Twice he aroused his friends and twice
they sat up and reviled him.

"If you put your bony finger into my ribs again," growled Mr. Stobell,
tenderly rubbing the afflicted part, "you and me won’t talk alike. Like
a bar of iron it was."

"I thought I heard something," said Mr. Chalk. "I should have fired,
only I was afraid of scaring you."

"Fired?" repeated Mr. Stobell, thoughtfully. "Fired? Was it the barrel
of that infernal pistol you shoved into my ribs just now?"

"I just touched you with it," admitted the other. "I’m sorry if I hurt
you."

Mr. Stobell, feeling in his pocket, struck a match and held it up. "Full
cock," he said, in a broken voice; "and he stirred me up with it. And
then he talks of savages!"

He struck another match and lit the candle, and then, before Mr. Chalk
could guess his intentions, pressed him backwards and took the pistol
away. He raised the canvas and threw it out into the night, and then,
remembering the guns, threw them after it. This done he blew out the
candle, and in two minutes was fast asleep again.

An hour passed and Mr. Chalk, despite his fears, began to nod. Half
asleep, he lay down and drew his blanket about him, and then he sat up
suddenly wide awake as an unmistakable footstep sounded outside.

For a few seconds he sat unable to move; then he stretched out his hand
and began to shake Stobell. He could have sworn that hands were fumbling
at the tent.

"Eh?" said Stobell, sleepily.

Chalk shook him again. Stobell sat up angrily, but before he could speak
a wild yell rent the air, the tent collapsed suddenly, and they
struggled half suffocated in the folds of the canvas.

CHAPTER XIX

Mr. Stobell was the first to emerge, and, seizing the canvas, dragged it
free of the writhing bodies of his companions. Mr. Chalk gained his feet
and, catching sight of some dim figures standing a few yards away on the
beach, gave a frantic shout and plunged into the interior, followed by
the others. A shower of pieces of coral whizzing by their heads and
another terrible yell accelerated their flight.

Mr. Chalk gained the farther beach unmolested and, half crazy with fear,
ran along blindly. Footsteps, which he hoped were those of his friends,
pounded away behind him, and presently Stobell, panting heavily, called
to him to stop. Mr. Chalk, looking over his shoulder, slackened his pace
and allowed him to overtake him.

"Wait—for—Tredgold," said Stobell, breathlessly, as he laid a heavy hand
on his shoulder.

Mr. Chalk struggled to free himself. "Where is he?" He gasped.

Stobell, still holding him, stood trying to regain his breath. "They—
they must—have got him," he said, at last. "Have you got any of your
pistols on you?"

"You threw them all away," quavered Mr. Chalk. "I’ve only got a knife."

He fumbled with trembling fingers at his belt; Stobell brushing his hand
aside drew a sailor’s knife from its sheath, and started to run back in
the direction of the tent. Mr. Chalk, after a moment’s hesitation,
followed a little way behind.

"Look out!" he screamed, and stopped suddenly, as a figure burst out of
the trees on to the beach a score of yards ahead. Stobell, with a hoarse
cry, raised his hand and dashed at it.

"Stobell!" cried a voice.

"It’s Tredgold," cried Stobell. He waited for him to reach them, and
then, turning, all three ran stumbling along the beach.

They ran in silence until they reached the other end of the island. So
far there were no signs of pursuit, and Stobell, breathing hard from his
unwonted exercise, collected a few lumps of coral and piled them on the
beach.

"They had me over—twice," said Tredgold, jerkily; "they tore the clothes
from my back. How I got away I don’t know. I fought—kicked—then suddenly
I broke loose and ran."

He threw himself on the beach and drew his breath in long, sobbing
gasps. Stobell, going a few paces forward, peered into the darkness and
listened intently.

"I suppose they’re waiting for daylight," he said at last.

He sat down on the beach and, after making a few disparaging remarks
about coral as a weapon, lapsed into silence.

To Mr. Chalk it seemed as though the night would never end. A dozen
times he sprang to his feet and gazed fearfully into the darkness, and a
dozen times at least he reminded the silent Stobell of the folly of
throwing other people’s guns away. Day broke at last and showed him
Tredgold in a tattered shirt and a pair of trousers, and Stobell sitting
close by sound asleep.

"We must try and signal to the ship," he said, in a hoarse whisper.
"It’s our only chance."

Tredgold nodded assent and shook Stobell quietly. The silence was
oppressive. They rose and peered out to sea, and a loud exclamation
broke from all three. The "Fair Emily" had disappeared.

Stobell rubbed his eyes and swore softly; Tredgold and Chalk stood
gazing in blank dismay at the unbroken expanse of shining sea.

"The savages must have surprised them," said the latter, in trembling
tones. "That’s why they left us alone."

"Or else they heard the noise ashore and put to sea," said Tredgold.

They stood gazing at each other in consternation. Then Stobell, who had
been looking about him, gave vent to an astonished grunt and pointed to
a boat drawn upon the beach nearly abreast of where their tent had been.

"Some of the crew have escaped ashore," said Mr. Chalk.

Striking inland, so as to get the shelter of the trees, they made their
way cautiously towards the boat. Colour was lent to Mr. Chalk’s surmise
by the fact that it was fairly well laden with stores. As they got near
they saw a couple of small casks which he thought contained water, an
untidy pile of tinned provisions, and two or three bags of biscuit. The
closest search failed to reveal any signs of men, and plucking up
courage they walked boldly down to the boat and stood gazing stupidly at
its contents.

The firearms which Stobell had pitched out of the tent the night before
lay in the bottom, together with boxes of cartridges from the cabin, a
couple of axes, and a pile of clothing, from the top of which Mr.
Tredgold, with a sharp exclamation, snatched a somewhat torn coat and
waistcoat. From the former he drew out a bulky pocketbook, and, opening
it with trembling fingers, hastily inspected the contents.

"The map has gone!" he shouted.

The others stared at him.

"Brisket has gone off with the ship," he continued, with desperate
calmness. "It was the crew of our own schooner that frightened us off
last night."

Mr. Stobell, still staring in a stony fashion, nodded slowly; Mr. Chalk
after an effort found his voice.

"They’ve gone off with the treasure," he said, slowly.

"Also," continued Tredgold, "this is not Bowers’s Island. I can see it
all now. They’ve only taken the map, and now they’re off to the real
island to get the treasure. It’s as clear as daylight."

"Broad daylight," said Stobell, huskily. "But how did they know?"

"Somebody has been talking," said Tredgold, in a hard voice. "Somebody
has been confiding in that honest, open-hearted sailor, Captain
Brisket."

He turned as he spoke and gazed fixedly at the open-mouthed Chalk. In a
slower fashion, but with no less venom, Mr. Stobell also bent his
regards upon that amiable but erring man.

Mr. Chalk returned their gaze with something like defiance. Half an hour
before he had expected to have been killed and eaten. He had passed a
night of horror, expecting death every minute. Now he exulted in the
blue sky, the line of white breakers crashing on the reef, and the sea
sparkling in the sunshine; and he had not spent twenty-five years with
Mrs. Chalk without acquiring some skill in the noble art of
self-defence.

"Ah, Brisket was trying to pump me a week ago," he said, confidentially.
"I see it all now."

The others glared at him luridly.

"He said that he had seen us through the skylight studying a paper,"
continued Mr. Chalk, shaking his head. "I thought at the time you were
rather rash, Tredgold."

Mr. Tredgold choked and, meeting the fault-finding eye of Mr. Stobell,
began to protest.

"The thing Brisket couldn’t understand," said Chalk, gaining confidence
as he proceeded, "was Stobell’s behaviour. He said that he couldn’t
believe that a man who grumbled at the sea so much as he did could be
sailing for pleasure."

Mr. Stobell glowered fiercely. "Why didn’t you tell us before?" he
demanded.

"I didn’t attach any importance to it," said Mr. Chalk, truthfully. "I
thought that it was just curiosity on Brisket’s part. It surprised me
that he had been observing you and Tredgold so closely; that was all."

"Pity you didn’t tell us," exclaimed Tredgold, harshly. "We might have
been prepared, then."

"You ought to have told us at once," said Stobell.

Mr. Chalk agreed. "I ought to have done so, perhaps," he said, slowly;
"only I was afraid of hurting your feelings. As it is, we must make the
best of it. It is no good grumbling at each other.

"If I had had the map instead of Tredgold, perhaps this wouldn’t have
happened."

"It was a crazy idea to keep it in your coat-pocket," said Stobell,
scowling at Tredgold. "No doubt Brisket saw you put it back there the
other night, guessed what it was, and laid his plans according."

"If it hadn’t been for your grumbling it wouldn’t have happened,"
retorted Tredgold, hotly. "That’s what roused his suspicions in the
first instance."

Mr. Chalk interposed. "It is no good you two quarrelling about it," he
said, with kindly severity. "The mischief is done. Bear a hand with
these stores, and then help me to fix the tent up again."

The others hesitated, and then without a word Mr. Stobell worked one of
the casks out of the boat and began to roll it up the beach. The tent
still lay where it had fallen, but the case of spades had disappeared.
They raised the tent again and carried in the stores, after which Mr.
Chalk, with the air of an old campaigner, made a small fire and prepared
breakfast.

Day by day they scanned the sea for any signs of a sail, but in vain.
Cocoa-nuts and a few birds shot by Mr. Stobell—who had been an expert at
pigeon-shooting in his youth—together with a species of fish which Mr.
Chalk pronounced to be edible a few hours after the others had partaken
of it, furnished them with a welcome change of diet. In the smooth water
inside the reef they pulled about in the boat, and, becoming bolder and
more expert in the management of it, sometimes ventured outside. Mr.
Stobell pronounced the life to be more monotonous than that on board
ship, and once, in a moment of severe depression, induced by five days’
heavy rain, spoke affectionately of Mrs. Stobell. To Mr. Chalk’s
reminder that the rain had enabled them to replenish their water supply
he made a churlish rejoinder.

He passed his time in devising plans for the capture and punishment of
Captain Brisket, and caused a serious misunderstanding by expressing his
regret that that unscrupulous mariner had not rendered himself liable to
the extreme penalty of the law by knocking Mr. Chalk on the head on the
night of the attack. His belated explanation that he wished Mr. Chalk no
harm was pronounced by that gentleman to be childish.

"We can do nothing to Brisket even if we escape from this place," said
Tredgold, peremptorily.

"Do nothing?" roared Stobell. "Why not?"

"In the first place we sha’n’t find him," said Tredgold. "After they
have got the treasure they will get rid of the ship and disperse all
over the world."

Mr. Stobell, with heavy sarcasm, said that once, many years before, he
had heard of people called detectives.

"In the second place," continued Tredgold, "we can’t explain. It wasn’t
our map, and, strictly speaking, we had no business with it. Even if we
caught Brisket, we should have no legal claim to the treasure. And if
you want to blurt out to all Binchester how we were tricked and
frightened out of our lives by imitation savages, I don’t."

"He stole our ship," growled Stobell, after a long pause. "We could have
him for that."

"Mutiny on the high seas," added Chalk, with an important air.

"The whole story would have to come out," said Tredgold, sharply.
"Verdict: served them right. Once we had got the treasure we could have
given Captain Bowers his share, or more than his share, and it would
have been all right. As it is, nobody must know that we went for it."

Mr. Stobell, unable to trust himself with speech, stumped fiercely up
and down the beach.

"But it will all have to come out if we are rescued," objected Mr.
Chalk.

"We can tell what story we like," said Tredgold. "We can say that the
schooner went to pieces on a reef in the night; we got separated from
the other boat and made our way here. We have got plenty of time to
concoct a story, and there is nobody to contradict it."

Mr. Stobell brought up in front of him and frowned thoughtfully. "I
suppose you’re right," he said, slowly; "but if we ever get off this
chicken-perch, and I run across him, let him look out, that’s all."

To pass the time they built themselves a hut on the beach in a situation
where it would stand the best chance of being seen by any chance vessel.
At one corner stood a mast fashioned from a tree, and a flag, composed
for the most part of shirts which Mr. Chalk thought his friends had done
with, fluttered bravely in the breeze. It was designed to attract
attention, and, so far as the bereaved Mr. Stobell was concerned, it
certainly succeeded.

CHAPTER XX

Nearly a year had elapsed since the sailing of the Fair Emily, and
Binchester, which had listened doubtfully to the tale of the treasure as
revealed by Mr. William Russell, was still awaiting news of her fate.
Cablegrams to Sydney only elicited the information that she had not been
heard of, and the opinion became general that she had added but one more
to the many mysteries of the sea.

Captain Bowers, familiar with many cases of ships long overdue which had
reached home in safety, still hoped, but it was clear from the way in
which Mrs. Chalk spoke of her husband and the saint-like qualities she
attributed to him that she never expected to see him again. Mr. Stobell
also appeared to his wife through tear-dimmed eyes as a person of great
gentleness and infinite self-sacrifice.

"All the years we were married," she said one afternoon to Mrs. Chalk,
who had been listening with growing impatience to an account of Mr.
Stobell which that gentleman would have been the first to disclaim, "I
never gave him a cross word. Nothing was too good for me; I only had to
ask to have."

Mrs. Chalk couldn’t help herself. "Why don’t you ask, then?" she
inquired.

Mrs. Stobell started and eyed her indignantly. "So long as I had him I
didn’t want anything else," she said, stiffly. "We were all in all to
each other; he couldn’t bear me out of his sight. I remember once, when
I had gone to see my poor mother, he sent me three telegrams in
thirty-five minutes telling me to come home."

"Thomas was so unselfish," murmured Mrs. Chalk. "I once stayed with my
mother for six weeks and he never said a word."

An odd expression, transient but unmistakable, flitted across the face
of the listener.

"It nearly broke his heart, though, poor dear," said Mrs. Chalk, glaring
at her. "He said he had never had such a time in his life."

"I don’t expect he had," said Mrs. Stobell, screwing up her small
features.

Mrs. Chalk drew herself up in her chair. "What do you mean by that?" she
demanded.

"I meant what he meant," replied Mrs. Stobell, with a little air of
surprise.

Mrs. Chalk bit her lip, and her friend, turning her head, gazed long and
mournfully at a large photograph of Mr. Stobell painted in oils, which
stared stiffly down on them from the wall.

"He never caused me a moment’s uneasiness," she said, tenderly. "I could
trust him anywhere."

Mrs. Chalk gazed thoughtfully at the portrait. It was not a good
likeness, but it was more like Mr. Stobell than anybody else in
Binchester, a fact which had been of some use in allaying certain
unworthy suspicions of Mr. Stobell the first time he saw it.

"Yes," said Mrs. Chalk, significantly, "I should think you could."

Mrs. Stobell, about to reply, caught the staring eye of the photograph,
and, shaking her head sorrowfully, took out her handkerchief and wiped
her eyes. Mrs. Chalk softened.

"They both had their faults," she said, gently, "but they were great
friends. I dare say that it was a comfort to them to be together to the
last."

Captain Bowers himself began to lose hope at last, and went about in so
moody a fashion that a shadow seemed to have fallen upon the cottage. By
tacit consent the treasure had long been a forbidden subject, and even
when the news of Selina’s promissory note reached Dialstone Lane he had
refused to discuss it. It had nothing to do with him, he said, and he
washed his hands of it—a conclusion highly satisfactory to Miss Vickers,
who had feared that she would have had to have dropped for a time her
visits to Mr. Tasker.

A slight change in the household occurring at this time helped to divert
the captain’s thoughts. Mr. Tasker while chopping wood happened to chop
his knee by mistake, and, as he did everything with great thoroughness,
injured himself so badly that he had to be removed to his home. He was
taken away at ten in the morning, and at a quarter-past eleven Selina
Vickers, in a large apron and her sleeves rolled up over her elbows, was
blacking the kitchen stove and throwing occasional replies to the
objecting captain over her shoulder.

"I promised Joseph," she said, sharply, "and I don’t break my promises
for nobody. He was worrying about what you’d do all alone, and I told
him I’d come."

Captain Bowers looked at her helplessly.

"I can manage very well by myself," he said, at last.

"Chop your leg off, I s’pose?" retorted Miss Vickers, good-temperedly.
"Oh, you men!"

"And I’m not at home much while Miss Drewitt is away," added the
captain.

"All the better," said Miss Vickers, breathing noisily on the stove and
polishing with renewed vigour. "You won’t be in my way."

The captain pulled himself together.

"You can finish what you’re doing," he said, mildly, "and then—"

"Yes, I know what to do," interrupted Miss Vickers. "You leave it to me.
Go in and sit down and make yourself comfortable. You ought not to be in
the kitchen at all by rights. Not that I mind what people say—I should
have enough to do if I did—but still—"

The captain fled in disorder and at first had serious thoughts of wiring
for Miss Drewitt, who was spending a few days with friends in town.
Thinking better of this, he walked down to a servants’ registry office,
and, after being shut up for a quarter of an hour in a small room with a
middle-aged lady of Irish extraction, who was sent in to be catechized,
resolved to let matters remain as they were.

Miss Vickers swept and dusted, cooked and scrubbed, undisturbed, and so
peaceable was his demeanour when he returned from a walk one morning,
and found the front room being "turned out," that she departed from her
usual custom and explained the necessities of the case at some length.

"I dare say it’ll be the better for it," said the captain.

"O’ course it will," retorted Selina. "You don’t think I’d do it for
pleasure, do you? I thought you’d sit out in the garden, and of course
it must come on to rain."

The captain said it didn’t matter.

"Joseph," said Miss Vickers, as she squeezed a wet cloth into her pail—
"Joseph’s got a nice leg. It’s healing very slow."

The captain, halting by the kitchen door, said he was sorry to hear it.

"Though there’s worse things than bad legs," continued Miss Vickers,
soaping her scrubbing-brush mechanically; "being lost at sea, for
instance."

Captain Bowers made no reply. Adopting the idea that all roads lead to
Rome, Miss Vickers had, during her stay at Dialstone Lane, made many
indirect attempts to introduce the subject of the treasure-seekers.

"I suppose those gentlemen are drowned?" she said, bending down and
scrubbing noisily.

The captain, taking advantage of her back being turned towards him, eyed
her severely. The hardihood of the girl was appalling. His gaze wandered
from her to the bureau, and, as his eye fell on the key sticking up in
the lid, the idea of reading her a much-needed lesson presented itself.
He stepped over the pail towards the bureau and, catching the girl’s eye
as she looked up, turned the key noisily in the lock and placed it
ostentatiously in his pocket. A sudden vivid change in Selina’s
complexion satisfied him that his manoeuvre had been appreciated.

"Are you afraid I shall steal anything?" she demanded, hotly, as he
regained the kitchen.

The captain quailed. "No," he said, hastily. "Somebody once took a paper
of mine out of there, though," he added. "So I keep it locked up now."

Miss Vickers dropped the brush in the pail, and, rising slowly to her
feet, stood wiping her hands on her coarse apron. Her face was red and
white in patches, and the captain, regarding her with growing
uneasiness, began to take in sail.

"At least, I thought they did," he muttered.

Selina paid no heed. "Get out o’ my kitchen," she said, in a husky
voice, as she brushed past him.

The captain obeyed hastily, and, stepping inside the dismantled room,
stood for some time gazing out of window at the rain. Then he filled his
pipe and, removing a small chair which was sitting upside down in a
large one, took its place and stared disconsolately at the patch of wet
floor and the general disorder.

At the end of an hour he took a furtive peep into the kitchen. Selina
Vickers was sitting with her back towards him, brooding over the stove.
It seemed clear to him that she was ashamed to meet his eye, and, glad
to see such signs of grace in her, he resolved to spare her further
confusion by going upstairs. He went up noisly and closed his door with
a bang, but although he opened it afterwards and stood listening acutely
he heard so sound from below.

By the end of the second hour his uneasiness had increased to
consternation. The house was as silent as a tomb, the sitting-room was
still in a state of chaos, and a healthy appetite would persist in
putting ominous and inconvenient questions as to dinner. Whistling a
cheerful air he went downstairs again and put his head in at the
kitchen. Selina sat in the same attitude, and when he coughed made no
response.

"What about dinner?" he said, at last, in a voice which strove to be
unconcerned.

"Go away," said Selina, thickly. "I don’t want no dinner."

The captain started. "But I do," he said, feelingly.

"You’d better get it yourself, then," replied Miss Vickers, without
turning her head. "I might steal a potato or something."

"Don’t talk nonsense," said the other, nervously.

"I’m not a thief," continued Miss Vickers. "I work as hard as anybody in
Binchester, and nobody can ever say that I took the value of a farthing
from them. If I’m poor I’m honest."

"Everybody knows that," said the captain, with fervour.

"You said you didn’t want the paper," said Selina, turning at last and
regarding him fiercely. "I heard you with my own ears, else I wouldn’t
have taken it. And if they had come back you’d have had your share. You
didn’t want the treasure yourself and you didn’t want other people to
have it. And it wasn’t yours, because I heard you say so."

"Very well, say no more about it," said the captain. "If anybody asks
you can say that I knew you had it. Now go and put that back in the
bureau."

He tossed the key on to the table, and Miss Vickers, after a moment’s
hesitation, turned with a gratified smile and took it up. The next hour
he spent in his bedroom, the rapid evolutions of Miss Vickers as she
passed from the saucepans to the sitting room and from the sitting-room
back to the saucepans requiring plenty of sea room.

A week later she was one of the happiest people in Binchester. Edward
Tredgold had received a cable from Auckland: "All safe; coming home,"
and she shared with Mrs. Chalk and Mrs. Stobell in the hearty
congratulations of a large circle of friends. Her satisfaction was only
marred by the feverish condition of Mr. Tasker immediately on receipt of
the news.

CHAPTER XXI

Fortunately for their peace of mind, Mr. Chalk and his friends, safe on
board the s.s. Silver Star, bound for home, had no idea that the story
of the treasure had become public property. Since their message it had
become the principal topic of conversation in the town, and, Miss
Vickers being no longer under the necessity of keeping her share in the
affair secret, Mr. William Russell was relieved of a reputation for
untruthfulness under which he had long laboured.

Various religious and philanthropic bodies began to bestir themselves.
Owing to his restlessness and love of change no fewer than three sects
claimed Mr. Chalk as their own, and, referring to his donations in the
past, looked forward to a golden future. The claim of the Church to Mr.
Tredgold was regarded as flawless, but the case of Mr. Stobell bristled
with difficulties. Apologists said that he belonged to a sect
unrepresented in Binchester, but an offshoot of the Baptists put in a
claim on the ground that he had built that place of worship—at a
considerable loss on the contract—some fifteen years before.

Dialstone Lane, when it became known that Captain Bowers had waived his
claim to a share, was besieged by people seeking the reversion, and even
Mint Street was not overlooked. Mr. Vickers repelled all callers with
acrimonious impartiality, but Selina, after a long argument with a lady
subaltern of the Salvation Army, during which the methods and bonnets of
that organization were hotly assailed, so far relented as to present her
with twopence on account.

Miss Drewitt looked forward to the return of the adventurers with
disdainful interest. To Edward Tredgold she referred with pride to the
captain’s steadfast determination not to touch a penny of their
ill-gotten gains, and with a few subtle strokes drew a comparison
between her uncle and his father which he felt to be somewhat highly
coloured. In extenuation he urged the rival claims of Chalk and Stobell.

"They were both led away by Chalk’s eloquence and thirst for adventure,"
he said, as he walked by her side down the garden.

Miss Drewitt paid no heed. "And you will benefit by it," she remarked.

Mr. Tredgold drew himself up with an air the nobleness of which was
somewhat marred by the expression of his eyes. "I will never touch a
penny of it," he declared. "I will be like the captain. I am trying all
I can to model myself on his lines."

The girl regarded him with suspicion. "I see no signs of any result at
present," she said, coldly.

Mr. Tredgold smiled modestly. "Don’t flatter me," he entreated.

"Flatter you!" said the indignant Prudence.

"On my consummate powers of concealment," was the reply. "I am keeping
everything dark until I am so like him—in every particular—that you will
not know the difference. I have often envied him the possession of such
a niece. When the likeness is perfec——"

"Well?" said Miss Drewitt, with impatient scorn.

"You will have two uncles instead of one," rejoined Mr. Tredgold,
impressively.

Miss Drewitt, with marked deliberation, came to a pause in the centre of
the path.

"Are you going to continue talking nonsense?" she inquired,
significantly.

Mr. Tredgold sighed. "I would rather talk sense," he replied, with a
sudden change of manner.

"Try," said the girl, encouragingly.

"Only it is so difficult," said Edward, thoughtfully, "to you."

Miss Drewitt stopped again.

"For me," added the other, hastily. His companion said that she supposed
it was. She also reminded him that nothing was easy without practice.

"And I ought not to find it difficult," complained Mr. Tredgold. "I have
got plenty of sense hidden away somewhere."

Miss Drewitt permitted herself a faint exclamation of surprise. "It was
not an empty boast of yours just now, then," she said.

"Boast?" repeated the other, blankly. "What boast?"

"On your wonderful powers of concealment," said Prudence, gently.

"You are reverting of your own accord to the nonsense," said Mr.
Tredgold, sternly. "You are returning to the subject of uncles."

"Nothing of the kind," said Prudence, hotly.

"Before we leave it—for ever," said Mr. Tredgold, dramatically, "I
should like, if I am permitted, to make just one more remark on the
subject. I would not, for all the wealth of this world, be your uncle.
Where are you going?"

"Indoors," said Miss Drewitt, briefly.

"One moment," implored the other. "I am just going to begin to talk
sense."

"I will listen when you have had some practice," said the girl, walking
towards the house.

"It’s impossible to practise this," said Edward, following. "It is
something that can only be confided to yourself. Won’t you stay?"

"No," said the girl.

"Not from curiosity?"

Miss Drewitt, gazing steadfastly before her, shook her head.

"Well, perhaps I can say it as well indoors," murmured Edward,
resignedly.

"And you’ll have a bigger audience," said Prudence, breathing more
easily as she reached the house. "Uncle is indoors."

She passed through the kitchen and into the sitting-room so hastily that
Captain Bowers, who was sitting by the window reading, put down his
paper and looked up in surprise. The look of grim determination on Mr.
Tredgold’s face did not escape him.

"Mr. Tredgold has come indoors to talk sense," said Prudence, demurely.

"Talk sense?" repeated the astonished captain.

"That’s what he says," replied Miss Drewitt, taking a low chair by the
captain’s side and gazing composedly at the intruder. "I told him that
you would like to hear it."

She turned her head for a second to hide her amusement, and in that
second Mr. Tredgold favoured the captain with a glance the significance
of which was at once returned fourfold. She looked up just in time to
see their features relaxing, and moving nearer to the captain
instinctively placed her hand upon his knee.

"I hope," said Captain Bowers, after a long and somewhat embarrassing
silence—"I hope the conversation isn’t going to be above my head?"

"Mr. Tredgold was talking about uncles," said Prudence, maliciously.

"Nothing bad about them, I hope?" said the captain, with pretended
anxiety.

Edward shook his head. "I was merely envying Miss Drewitt her possession
of you," he said, carelessly, "and I was just about to remark that I
wished you were my uncle too, when she came indoors. I suppose she
wanted you to hear it."

Miss Drewitt started violently, and her cheek flamed at the meanness of
the attack.

"I wish I was, my lad," said the admiring captain.

"It would be the proudest moment of my life," said Edward, deliberately.

"And mine," said the captain, stoutly.

"And the happiest."

The captain bowed. "Same here," he said, graciously.

Miss Drewitt, listening helplessly to this fulsome exchange of
compliments, wondered whether they had got to the end. The captain
looked at Mr. Tredgold as though to remind him that it was his turn.

"You—you were going to show me a photograph of your first ship," said
the latter, after a long pause. "Don’t trouble if it’s upstairs."

"It’s no trouble," said the captain, briskly.

He rose to his feet and the hand of the indignant Prudence, dislodged
from his knee, fell listlessly by her side. She sat upright, with her
pale, composed face turned towards Mr. Tredgold. Her eyes were scornful
and her lips slightly parted. Before these signs his courage flickered
out and left him speechless. Even commonplace statements of fact were
denied him. At last in sheer desperation he referred to the loudness of
the clock’s ticking.

"It seems to me to be the same as usual," said the girl, with a slight
emphasis on the pronoun.

The clock ticked on undisturbed. Upstairs the amiable captain did his
part nobly. Drawers opened and closed noisily; doors shut and lids of
boxes slammed. The absurdity of the situation became unbearable, and
despite her indignation at the treatment she had received Miss Drewitt
felt a strong inclination to laugh. She turned her head swiftly and
looked out of window, and the next moment Edward Tredgold crossed and
took the captain’s empty chair.

"Shall I call him down?" he asked, in a low voice.

"Call him down?" repeated the girl, coldly, but without turning her
head. "Yes, if you——"

A loud crash overhead interrupted her sentence. It was evident that in
his zeal the captain had pulled out a loaded drawer too far and gone
over with it. Slapping sounds, as of a man dusting himself down,
followed, and it was obvious that Miss Drewitt was only maintaining her
gravity by a tremendous effort. Much emboldened by this fact the young
man took her hand.

"Mr. Tredgold!" she said, in a stifled voice.

Undismayed by his accident the indefatigable captain was at it again,
and in face of the bustle upstairs Prudence Drewitt was afraid to trust
herself to say more. She sat silent with her head resolutely averted,
but Edward took comfort in the fact that she had forgotten to withdraw
her hand.

"Bless him!" he said, fervently, a little later, as the captain’s foot
was heard heavily on the stair. "Does he think we are deaf?"

CHAPTER XXII

Much to the surprise of their friends, who had not expected them home
until November or December, telegrams were received from the
adventurers, one day towards the end of September, announcing that they
had landed at the Albert Docks and were on their way home by the
earliest train. The most agreeable explanation of so short a voyage was
that, having found the treasure, they had resolved to return home by
steamer, leaving the Fair Emily to return at her leisure. But Captain
Bowers, to whom Mrs. Chalk propounded this solution, suggested several
others.

He walked down to the station in the evening to see the train come in,
his curiosity as to the bearing and general state of mind of the
travellers refusing to be denied. He had intended to witness the arrival
from a remote corner of the platform, but to his surprise it was so
thronged with sightseers that the precaution was unnecessary. The news
of the return had spread like wildfire, and half Binchester had
congregated to welcome their fellow-townsmen and congratulate them upon
their romantically acquired wealth.

Despite the crowd the captain involuntarily shrank back as the train
rattled into the station. The carriage containing the travellers stopped
almost in front of him, and their consternation and annoyance at the
extent of their reception were plainly visible. Bronzed and
healthy-looking, they stepped out on to the platform, and after a brief
greeting to Mrs. Chalk and Mrs. Stobell led the way in some haste to the
exit. The crowd pressed close behind, and inquiries as to the treasure
and its approximate value broke clamorously upon the ears of the
maddened Mr. Stobell. Friends of many years who sought for particulars
were shouldered aside, and it was left to Mr. Chalk, who struggled along
in the rear with his wife, to announce that they had been shipwrecked.

Captain Bowers, who had just caught the word, heard the full particulars
from him next day. For once the positions were reversed, and Mr. Chalk,
who had so often sat in that room listening to the captain’s yarns,
swelled with pride as he noted the rapt fashion in which the captain
listened to his. The tale of the shipwreck he regarded as a disagreeable
necessity: a piece of paste flaunting itself among gems. In a few words
he told how the Fair Emily crashed on to a reef in the middle of the
night, and how, owing to the darkness and confusion, the boat into which
he had got with Stobell and Tredgold was cast adrift; how a voice raised
to a shriek cried to them to pull away, and how a minute afterwards the
schooner disappeared with all hands.

"It almost unnerved me," he said, turning to Miss Drewitt, who was
listening intently.

"You are sure she went down, I suppose?" said the captain; "she didn’t
just disappear in the darkness?"

"Sank like a stone," said Mr. Chalk, decidedly. "Our boat was nearly
swamped in the vortex. Fortunately, the sea was calm, and when day broke
we saw a small island about three miles away on our weather-beam."

"Where?" inquired Edward Tredgold, who had just looked in on the way to
the office. Mr. Chalk explained.

"You tell the story much better than my father does," said Edward,
nodding. "From the way he tells it one might think that you had the
island in the boat with you."

Mr. Chalk started nervously. "It was three miles away on our
weather-beam," he repeated, "the atmosphere clear and the sea calm. We
sat down to a steady pull, and made the land in a little under the
hour."

"Who did the pulling?" inquired Edward, casually.

Mr. Chalk started again, and wondered who had done it in Mr. Tredgold’s
version. He resolved to see him as soon as possible and arrange details.

"Most of us took a turn at it," he said, evasively, "and those who
didn’t encouraged the others."

"Most of you!" exclaimed the bewildered captain; "and those who didn’t—
but how many?"

"The events of that night are somewhat misty," interrupted Mr. Chalk,
hastily. "The suddenness of the calamity and the shock of losing our
shipmates—"

"It’s wonderful to me that you can remember so much," said Edward, with
a severe glance at the captain.

Mr. Chalk paid no heed. Having reached the island, the rest was truth
and plain sailing. He described their life there until they were taken
off by a trading schooner from Auckland, and how for three months they
cruised with her among the islands. He spoke learnedly of atolls, copra,
and missionaries, and, referring for a space to the Fijian belles,
thought that their charms had been much overrated. Edward Tredgold,
waiting until the three had secured berths in the s.s. Silver Star,
trading between Auckland and London, took his departure.

Miss Vickers, who had been spending the day with a friend at Dutton
Priors, and had missed the arrival in consequence, heard of the disaster
in a mingled state of wrath and despair. The hopes of a year were
shattered in a second, and, rejecting with fierceness the sympathy of
her family, she went up to her room and sat brooding in the darkness.

She came down the next morning, pale from want of sleep. Mr. Vickers,
who was at breakfast, eyed her curiously until, meeting her gaze in
return, he blotted it out with a tea-cup.

"When you’ve done staring," said his daughter, "you can go upstairs and
make yourself tidy."

"Tidy?" repeated Mr. Vickers. "What for?"

"I’m going to see those three," replied Selina, grimly; "and I want a
witness. And I may as well have a clean one while I’m about it."

Mr. Vickers darted upstairs with alacrity, and having made himself
approximately tidy smoked a morning pipe on the doorstep while his
daughter got ready. An air of importance and dignity suitable to the
occasion partly kept off inquirers.

"We’ll go and see Mr. Stobell first," said his daughter, as she came
out.

"Very good," said the witness, "but if you asked my advice——"

"You just keep quiet," said Selina, irritably; "I’ve not gone quite off
my head yet. And don’t hum!"

Mr. Vickers lapsed into offended silence, and, arrived at Mr. Stobell’s,
followed his daughter into the hall in so stately a fashion that the
maid—lately of Mint Street—implored him not to eat her. Miss Vickers
replied for him, and the altercation that ensued was only quelled by the
appearance of Mr. Stobell at the dining-room door.

"Halloa! What do you want?" he inquired, staring at the intruders.

"I’ve come for my share," said Miss Vickers, eyeing him fiercely.

"Share?" repeated Mr. Stobell. "Share? Why, we’ve been shipwrecked.
Haven’t you heard?"

"Perhaps you came to my house when I wasn’t at home," retorted Miss
Vickers, in a trembling but sarcastic voice. "I want to hear about it.
That’s what I’ve come for."

She walked to the dining-room and, as Mr. Stobell still stood in the
doorway, pushed past him, followed by her father. Mr. Stobell, after a
short deliberation, returned to his seat at the breakfast-table, and in
an angry and disjointed fashion narrated the fate of the Fair Emily and
their subsequent adventures. Miss Vickers heard him to an end in
silence.

"What time was it when the ship struck on the rock?" she inquired.

Mr. Stobell stared at her. "Eleven o’clock," he said, gruffly.

Miss Vickers made a note in a little red-covered memorandum-book.

"Who got in the boat first?" she demanded.

Mr. Stobell’s lips twisted in a faint grin. "Chalk did," he said, with
relish.

Miss Vickers, nodding at the witness to call his attention to the fact,
made another note.

"How far was the boat off when the ship sank?"

"Here, look here—" began the indignant Stobell.

"How far was the boat off?" interposed the witness, severely; "that’s
what we want to know."

"You hold your tongue," said his daughter.

"I’m doing the talking. How far was the boat off?"

"About four yards," replied Mr. Stobell. "And now look here; if you want
to know any more, you go and see Mr. Chalk. I’m sick and tired of the
whole business. And you’d no right to talk about it while we were away."

"I’ve got the paper you signed and I’m going to know the truth," said
Miss Vickers, fiercely. "It’s my right. What was the size of the
island?"

Mr. Stobell maintained an obstinate silence.

"What colour did you say these ’ere Fidgetty islanders was?" inquired
Mr. Vickers, with truculent curiosity.

"You get out," roared Stobell, rising. "At once. D’ye hear me?"

Mr. Vickers backed with some haste towards the door. His daughter
followed slowly.

"I don’t believe you," she said, turning sharply on Stobell. "I don’t
believe the ship was wrecked at all."

Mr. Stobell sat gasping at her. "What?" he stammered. "W h-a-a-t?"

"I don’t believe it was wrecked," repeated Selina, wildly. "You’ve got
the treasure all right, and you’re keeping it quiet and telling this
tale to do me out of my share. I haven’t done with you yet. You wait!"

She flung out into the hall, and Mr. Vickers, after a lofty glance at
Mr. Stobell, followed her outside.

"And now we’ll go and hear what Mr. Tredgold has to say," she said, as
they walked up the road. "And after that, Mr. Chalk."

Mr. Tredgold was just starting for the office when they arrived, but,
recognising the justice of Miss Vickers’s request for news, he stopped
and gave his version of the loss of the Fair Emily. In several details
it differed from that of Mr. Stobell, and he looked at her uneasily as
she took out pencil and paper and made notes.

"If you want any further particulars you had better go and see Mr.
Stobell," he said, restlessly. "I am busy."

"We’ve just been to see him," replied Miss Vickers, with an ominous
gleam in her eye. "You say that the boat was two or three hundred yards
away when the ship sank?"

"More or less," was the cautious reply.

"Mr. Stobell said about half a mile," suggested the wily Selina.

"Well, perhaps that would be more correct," said the other.

"Half a mile, then?"

"Half a mile," said Mr. Tredgold, nodding, as she wrote it down.

"Four yards was what Mr. Stobell said," exclaimed Selina, excitedly.
"I’ve got it down here, and father heard it. And you make the time it
happened and a lot of other things different. I don’t believe that you
were any more shipwrecked than I was."

"Not so much," added the irrepressible Mr. Vickers.

Mr. Tredgold walked to the door. "I am busy," he said, curtly. "Good
morning."

Miss Vickers passed him with head erect, and her small figure trembling
with rage and determination. By the time she had cross-examined Mr.
Chalk her wildest suspicions were confirmed. His account differed in
several particulars from the others, and his alarm and confusion when
taxed with the discrepancies were unmistakable.

Binchester rang with the story of her wrongs, and, being furnished with
three different accounts of the same incident, seemed inclined to
display a little pardonable curiosity. To satisfy this, intimates of the
gentlemen most concerned were provided with an official version, which
Miss Vickers discovered after a little research was compiled for the
most part by adding all the statements together and dividing by three.
She paid another round of visits to tax them with the fact, and, strong
in the justice of her cause, even followed them in the street demanding
her money.

"There’s one comfort," she said to the depressed Mr. Tasker. "I’ve got
you, Joseph. They can’t take you away from me."

"There’s nobody could do that," responded Mr. Tasker, with a sigh of
resignation.

"And if I had to choose," continued Miss Vickers, putting her arm round
his waist, "I’d sooner have you than a hundred thousand pounds."

Mr. Tasker sighed again at the idea of an article estimated at so high a
figure passing into the possession of Selina Vickers. In a voice broken
with emotion he urged her to persevere in her claims to a fortune which
he felt would alone make his fate tolerable. The unsuspecting Selina
promised.

"She’ll quiet down in time," said Captain Bowers to Mr. Chalk, after the
latter had been followed nearly all the way to Dialstone Lane by Miss
Vickers, airing her grievance and calling upon him to remedy it. "Once
she realizes the fact that the ship is lost, she’ll be all right."

Mr. Chalk looked unconvinced. "She doesn’t want to realize it," he said,
shaking his head.

"She’ll be all right in time," repeated the captain; "and after all, you
know," he added, with gentle severity, "you deserve to suffer a little.
You had no business with that map."

CHAPTER XXIII

On a fine afternoon towards the end of the following month Captain
Brisket and Mr. Duckett sat outside the Swan and Bottle Inn, Holemouth,
a small port forty miles distant from Biddlecombe. The day was fine,
with just a touch of crispness in the air to indicate the waning of the
year, and, despite a position regarded by the gloomy Mr. Duckett as
teeming with perils, the captain turned a bright and confident eye on
the Fair Emily, anchored in the harbour.

"We ought to have gone straight to Biddlecombe," said Mr. Duckett,
following his glance; "it would have looked better. Not that anything’ll
make much difference."

"And everybody in a flutter of excitement telegraphing off to the
owners," commented the captain. "No, we’ll tell our story first; quiet
and comfortable-like. Say it over again."

"I’ve said it three times," objected Mr. Duckett; "and each time it
sounds more unreal than ever."

"It’ll be all right," said Brisket, puffing at his cigar. "Besides,
we’ve got no choice. It’s that or ruin, and there’s nobody within
thousands of miles to contradict us. We bring both the ship and the map
back to ’em. What more can they ask?"

"You’ll soon know," said the pessimistic Mr. Duckett. "I wonder whether
they’ll have another shot for the treasure when they get that map back?"
"I should like to send that Captain Bowers out searching for it," said
Brisket, scowling, "and keep him out there till he finds it. It’s all
his fault. If it hadn’t been for his cock-and-bull story we shouldn’t
ha’ done what we did. Hanging’s too good for him."

"I suppose it’s best for them not to know that there’s no such island?"
hazarded Mr. Duckett.

"O’ course," snapped his companion. "Looks better for us, don’t it,
giving them back a map worth half a million. Now go through the yarn
again and I’ll see whether I can pick any holes in it. The train goes in
half an hour."

Mr. Duckett sighed and, first emptying his mug, began a monotonous
recital. Brisket listened attentively.

"We were down below asleep when the men came running down and
overpowered us. They weighed anchor at night, and following morning made
you, by threats, promise to steer them to the island. You told me on the
quiet that you’d die before you betrayed the owners’ trust. How did they
know that the island the gentlemen were on wasn’t the right one? Because
Sam Betts was standing by when you told me you’d made a mistake in your
reckoning and said we’d better go ashore and tell them."

"That’s all right so far, I think," said Brisket, nodding.

"We sailed about and tried island after island just to satisfy the men
and seize our opportunity," continued Mr. Duckett, with a weary air. "At
last, one day, when they were all drunk ashore, we took the map, shipped
these natives, and sailed back to the island to rescue the owners. Found
they’d gone when we got there. Mr. Stobell’s boot and an old pair of
braces produced in proof."

"Better wrap it up in a piece o’ newspaper," said Brisket, stooping and
producing the relic in question from under the table.

"Shipped four white men at Viti Levu and sailed for home," continued Mr.
Duckett. "Could have had more, but wanted to save owners’ pockets, and
worked like A.B.’s ourselves to do so."

"Let’em upset that if they can," said Brisket, with a confident smile.
"The crew are scattered, and if they happened to get one of them it’s
only his word against ours. Wait a bit. How did the crew know of the
treasure?"

"Chalk told you," responded the obedient Duckett. "And if he told
you—and he can’t deny it—why not them?"

Captain Briskett nodded approval. "It’s all right as far as I can see,"
he said, cautiously. "But mind. Leave the telling of it to me. You can
just chip in with little bits here and there. Now let’s get under way."

He threw away the stump of his cigar and rose, turning as he reached the
corner for a lingering glance at the Fair Emily.

"Scrape her and clean her and she’d be as good as ever," he said, with a
sigh. "She’s just the sort o’ little craft you and me could ha’ done
with, Peter."

They had to change twice on the way to Binchester, and at each
stopping-place Mr. Duckett, a prey to nervousness, suggested the wisdom
of disappearing while they had the opportunity.

"Disappear and starve, I suppose?" grunted the scornful Brisket. "What
about my certificate? and yours, too? I tell you it’s our only chance."

He walked up the path to Mr. Chalk’s house with a swagger which the mate
endeavoured in vain to imitate. Mr. Chalk was out, but the captain,
learning that he was probably to be found at Dialstone Lane, decided to
follow him there rather than first take his tidings to Stobell or
Tredgold. With the idea of putting Mr. Duckett at his ease he talked on
various matters as they walked, and, arrived at Dialstone Lane, even
stopped to point out the picturesque appearance its old houses made in
the moonlight.

"This is where the old pirate who made the map lives," he whispered, as
he reached the door. "If he’s got anything to say I’ll tackle him about
that. Now, pull yourself together!"

He knocked loudly on the door with his fist. A murmur of voices stopped
suddenly, and, in response to a gruff command from within, he opened the
door and stood staring at all three of his victims, who were seated at
the table playing whist with Captain Bowers.

The three gentlemen stared back in return. Tredgold and Chalk had half
risen from their seats; Mr. Stobell, with both arms on the table, leaned
forward, and regarded him open-mouthed.

"Good evening, gentlemen all," said Captain Brisket, in a hearty voice.

He stepped forward, and seizing Mr. Chalk’s hand wrung it fervently.

"It’s good for sore eyes to see you again, sir," he said. "Look at him,
Peter!"

Mr. Duckett, ignoring this reflection on his personal appearance,
stepped quietly inside the door, and stood smiling nervously at the
company.

"It’s him," said the staring Mr. Stobell, drawing a deep breath. "It’s
Brisket."

He pushed his chair back and, rising slowly from the table, confronted
him. Captain Brisket, red-faced and confident, stared up at him
composedly.

"It’s Brisket," said Mr. Stobell again, in a voice of deep content.
"Turn the key in that door, Chalk."

Mr. Chalk hesitated, but Brisket, stepping to the door, turned the key
and, placing it on the table, returned to his place by the side of the
mate. Except for a hard glint in his eye his face still retained its
smiling composure.

"And now," said Stobell, "you and me have got a word or two to say to
each other. I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing your ugly face since—"

"Since the disaster," interrupted Tredgold, loudly and hastily.

"Since the——"

Mr. Stobell suddenly remembered. For a few moments he stood irresolute,
and then, with an extraordinary contortion of visage, dropped into his
chair again and sat gazing blankly before him.

"Me and Peter Duckett only landed to-day," said Brisket, "and we came on
to see you by the first train we could—"

"I know," said Tredgold, starting up and taking his hand, "and we’re
delighted to see you are safe. And Mr. Duckett?—"

He found Mr. Duckett’s hand after a little trouble—the owner seeming to
think that he wanted it for some unlawful purpose—and shook that.
Captain Brisket, considerably taken aback by this performance, gazed at
him with suspicion.

"You didn’t go down with your ship, then, after all," said Captain
Bowers, who had been looking on with much interest.

Amazement held Brisket dumb. He turned and eyed Duckett inquiringly.
Then Tredgold, with his back to the others, caught his eye and frowned
significantly.

"If Captain Brisket didn’t go down with it I am sure that he was the
last man to leave it," he said, kindly; "and Mr. Duckett last but one."

Mr. Duckett, distrustful of these compliments, cast an agonized glance
at the door.

"Stobell was a bit rough just now," said Tredgold, with another warning
glance at Brisket, "but he didn’t like being shipwrecked."

Brisket gazed at the door in his turn. He had an uncomfortable feeling
that he was being played with.

"It’s nothing much to like," he said, at last, "but—"

"Tell us how you escaped," said Tredgold; "or, perhaps," he continued,
hastily, as Brisket was about to speak—"perhaps you would like first to
hear how we did."

"Perhaps that would be better," said the perplexed Brisket.

He nudged the mate with his elbow, and Mr. Tredgold, still keeping him
under the spell of his eye, began with great rapidity to narrate the
circumstances attending the loss of the Fair Emily. After one
irrepressible grunt of surprise Captain Brisket listened without moving
a muscle, but the changes on Mr. Duckett’s face were so extraordinary
that on several occasions the narrator faltered and lost the thread of
his discourse. At such times Mr. Chalk took up the story, and once, when
both seemed at a loss, a growling contribution came from Mr. Stobell.

"Of course, you got away in the other boat," said Tredgold, nervously,
when he had finished.

Brisket looked round shrewdly, his wits hard at work. Already the
advantages of adopting a story which he supposed to have been concocted
for the benefit of Captain Bowers were beginning to multiply in his
ready brain.

"And didn’t see us owing to the darkness," prompted Tredgold, with a
glance at Mr. Joseph Tasker, who was lingering by the door after
bringing in some whisky.

"You’re quite right, sir," said Brisket, after a trying pause. "I didn’t
see you."

Unasked he took a chair, and with crossed legs and folded arms surveyed
the company with a broad smile.

"You’re a fine sort of shipmaster," exclaimed the indignant Captain
Bowers. "First you throw away your ship, and then you let your
passengers shift for themselves."

"I am responsible to my owners," said Brisket. "Have you any fault to
find with me, gentlemen?" he demanded, turning on them with a frown.

Tredgold and Chalk hastened to reassure him.

"In the confusion the boat got adrift," said Brisket. "You’ve got their
own word for it. Not that they didn’t behave well for landsmen: Mr.
Chalk’s pluck was wonderful, and Mr. Tredgold was all right."

Mr. Stobell turned a dull but ferocious eye upon him.

"And you all got off in the other boat," said Tredgold. "I’m very glad."

Captain Brisket looked at him, but made no reply. The problem of how to
make the best of the situation was occupying all his attention.

"Me and Peter Duckett would be glad of some of our pay," he said, at
last.

"Pay?" repeated Tredgold, in a dazed voice.

Brisket looked at him again, and then gave a significant glance in the
direction of Captain Bowers. "We’d like twenty pounds on account—now,"
he said, calmly.

Tredgold looked hastily at his friends. "Come and see me to-morrow," he
said, nervously, "and we’ll settle things."

"You can send us the rest," said Brisket, "but we want that now. We’re
off to-night."

"But we must see you again," said Tredgold, who was anxious to make
arrangements about the schooner. "We—we’ve got a lot of things to talk
about. The—the ship, for instance."

"I’ll talk about her now if you want me to," said Brisket, with
unpleasant readiness. "Meantime, we’d like that money."

Fortunately—or unfortunately—Tredgold had been to his bank that morning,
and, turning a deaf ear to the expostulations of Captain Bowers, he
produced his pocketbook, and after a consultation with Mr. Chalk, and an
attempt at one with the raging Stobell, counted out the money and handed
it over.

"And there is an I.O.U. for the remainder," he said, with an attempt at
a smile, as he wrote on a slip of paper.

Brisket took it with pleased surprise, and the mate, leaning against his
shoulder, read the contents: "Where is the ’Fair Emily’?"

"You might as well give me a receipt," said Tredgold, significantly, as
he passed over pencil and paper.

Captain Brisket thanked him and, sucking the pencil, eyed him
thoughtfully. Then he bent to the table and wrote.

"You sign here, Peter," he said.

Mr. Tredgold smiled at the precaution, but the smile faded when he took
the paper. It was a correctly worded receipt for twenty pounds. He began
to think that he had rated the captain’s intelligence somewhat too
highly.

"Ah, we’ve had a hard time of it," said Brisket, putting the notes into
his breast-pocket and staring hard at Captain Bowers. "When that little
craft went down, of course I went down with her. How I got up I don’t
know, but when I did there was Peter hanging over the side of the boat
and pulling me in by the hair."

He paused to pat the mate on the shoulder.

"Unfortunately for us we took a different direction to you, sir," he
continued, turning to Tredgold, "and we were pulling for six days before
we were picked up by a barque bound for Melbourne. By the time she
sighted us we were reduced to half a biscuit a day each and two
teaspoonfuls o’ water, and not a man grumbled. Did they, Peter?"

"Not a man," said Mr. Duckett.

"At Melbourne," said the captain, who was in a hurry to be off, "we all
separated, and Duckett and me worked our way home on a cargo-boat. We
always stick together, Peter and me."

"And always will," said Mr. Duckett, with a little emotion as he gazed
meaningly at the captain’s breast-pocket.

"When I think o’ that little craft lying all those fathoms down,"
continued the captain, staring full at Mr. Tredgold, "it hurts me. The
nicest little craft of her kind I ever handled. Well—so long,
gentlemen."

"We shall see you to-morrow," said Tredgold, hastily, as the captain
rose.

Brisket shook his head.

"Me and Peter are very busy," he said, softly. "We’ve been putting our
little bit o’ savings together to buy a schooner, and we want to settle
things as soon as possible."

"A schooner?" exclaimed Mr. Tredgold, with an odd look.

Captain Brisket nodded indulgently.

"One o’ the prettiest little craft you ever saw, gentlemen," he said,"
"and, if you’ve got no objection, me and Peter Duckett thought o’
calling her the Fair Emily, in memory of old times. Peter’s a bit
sentimental at times, but I don’t know as I can blame him for it. Good
night."

He opened the door slowly, and the sentimental Mr. Duckett, still
holding fast to the parcel containing Mr. Stobell’s old boot, slipped
thankfully outside. Calmly and deliberately Captain Brisket followed,
and the door was closing behind him when it suddenly stopped, and his
red face was thrust into the room again.

"One thing is," he said, eyeing the speechless Tredgold with sly relish,
"she’s uncommonly like the Fair Emily we lost. Good night."

The door closed with a snap, but Tredgold and Chalk made no move. Glued
to their seats, they stared blankly at the door, until the rigidity of
their pose and the strangeness of their gaze began to affect the
slower-witted Mr. Stobell.

"Anything wrong?" inquired the astonished Captain Bowers, looking from
one to the other.

There was no reply. Mr. Stobell rose and, after steadying himself for a
moment with his hands on the table, blundered heavily towards the door.
As though magnetized, Tredgold and Chalk followed and, standing beside
him on the footpath, stared solemnly up Dialstone Lane.

Captain Brisket and his faithful mate had disappeared.

_THE END_

                                  ————