“Feel that,” said Flower, and gave him a blow in the ribs which almost made him regret that his first impression was not the correct one. “I’m satisfied, sir,” he said, hastily. “I was picked up and carried off to Riga: but for certain reasons I needn’t go into, I want my being alive kept a dead secret. You mustn’t breathe a word to anybody, d’ye understand? Not a word.” “Aye, aye, sir,” said Joe; “you hear that, Will-yum?” “Who the devil’s this?” demanded the skipper, who had not bargained for another confidant. “It’s the new ’and, sir,” said Joe. “I’ll be answerable for ’im.” Flower eyed the pair restlessly, but Mr. Green assured him with a courtly bow that Mr. Smith’s assurances might be relied upon. “He hoped he was a gentleman,” he said, feelingly. “Some of us thought—I thought,” said Joe, with a glance at the skipper, “that the mate shoved you overboard.” “You always were a fool,” commented the skipper. “Yes, sir,” said Joe, dutifully, and as they moved slowly back along the road gave him the latest information about Seabridge and the _Foam_. “The _Swallow_’s just come up in the tier,” he concluded; “and if you want to see Mr. Fraser, I’ll go and see if he’s aboard.” The skipper agreed, and after exacting renewed assurances of secrecy from both men, waited impatiently in the private bar of the Waterman’s Arms while they put off from the stairs and boarded the steamer. In twenty minutes, during which time the penniless skipper affected not to notice the restless glances of the landlord, they returned with Fraser, and a hearty meeting took place between the two men. The famished skipper was provided with meat and drink, while the two A. B.’s whetted their thirst in the adjourning bar. “You’ve had a rough time,” said Fraser, as the skipper concluded a dramatic recital of his adventures. Flower smiled broadly. “I’ve come out of it right side uppermost,” he said, taking a hearty pull at his tankard; “the worst part was losing my money. Still, it’s all in the day’s work. Joe tells me that Elizabeth is walking out with Gibson, so you see it has all happened as I bargained for.” “I’ve heard so,” said Fraser. “It’s rather soon after my death,” said Flower, thoughtfully; “she’s been driven into it by her mother, I expect. How is Poppy?” Fraser told him. “I couldn’t wish her in better hands, Jack,” said the other, heartily, when he had finished; “one of these days when she knows everything—at least, as much as I shall tell her—she’ll be as grateful to you as what I am.” “You’ve come back just in time,” said Fraser, slowly; “another week, and you’d have lost her.” “Lost her?” repeated Flower, staring. “She’s going to New Zealand,” replied the other; “she’s got some relations there. She met an old friend of her father’s the other day, Captain Martin, master of the _Golden Cloud_, and he has offered her a passage. They sail on Saturday from the Albert Dock.” Flower pushed the tankard from him, and regarded him in consternation.