He was awakened suddenly from a dream of rescuing a small shark surrounded by a horde of hungry Poppies, by the hurried and dramatic entrance of Captain Fred Flower. The captain’s eyes were wild and his face harassed, and he unlocked the door of his state-room and stood with the handle of it in his hand before he paused to answer the question in the mate’s sleepy eyes. “It’s all right, Jack,” he said, breathlessly. “I’m glad of that,” said the mate, calmly. “I hurried a bit,” said the skipper. “Anxious to see me again, I suppose,” said the mate; “what are you listening for?” “Thought I heard somebody in the water as I came aboard,” said Flower glibly. “What have you been up to?” enquired the other, quickly. Captain Flower turned and regarded him with a look of offended dignity. “Good heavens! don’t look like that,” said the mate, misreading it. “You haven’t chucked anybody overboard, have you?” “If anybody should happen to come aboard this vessel,” said Flower, without deigning to reply to the question, “and ask questions about the master of it, he’s as unlike me, Jack, as any two people in this world can be. D’ye understand?” “You’d better tell me what you’ve been up to,” urged the mate. “As for your inquisitiveness, Jack, it don’t become you,” said Flower, with severity; “but I don’t suppose it’ll be necessary to trouble you at all.” He walked out of the cabin and stood listening at the foot of the companion-ladder, and the mate heard him walk a little way up. When he re-entered the cabin his face had cleared, and he smiled comfortably. “I shall just turn in for an hour,” he said, amiably; “good-night, Jack.” “Good-night,” said the curious mate. “I say——” he sat up suddenly in his bunk and looked seriously at the skipper. “Well?” said the other. “I suppose,” said the mate, with a slight cough—“I suppose it’s nothing about that girl that was down here?” “Certainly not,” said Flower, violently. He extinguished the lamp, and, entering his state-room, closed the door and locked it, and the mate, after lying a little while drowsily wondering what it all meant, fell asleep again. CHAPTER II. WHILE the skipper and mate slumbered peacefully below, the watchman sat on a post at the extreme end of the jetty, yearning for human society and gazing fearfully behind him at the silent, dimly-lit wharf. The two gas-lamps high up on the walls gave but a faint light, and in no way dispelled the deep shadows thrown by the cranes and the piled-up empties which littered the place. He gazed intently at the dark opening of the floor beneath the warehouse, half fancying that he could again discern the veiled apparition which had looked in at him through the office window, and had finally vanished before his horror-struck eyes in a corner the only outlet to which was a grating. Albeit a careful man and tender, the watchman pinched himself. He was awake, and, rubbing the injured part, swore softly.