“Anywhere that’s safe. My bag contains jewels—their description is in the hands of the police—you understand?” “Stolen,” he muttered, nodding his head. “I’ve done the same thing afore for gents,” and he took a deliberate pull at his pipe. “Wenduyne ’ud be the best place to run into. Nobody about; and you could take the dilly-gance to Blankenberghe and then go by train direct to Brussels.” “Very well; how much?” “Twenty poun’.” I tried to convince him that the sum asked was too much, but he argued that it was “a contraband job,” and that there were three of his mates to be paid out of it. At last I consented. “All right,” he said, “we’ll start at seven and land you afore daybreak.” The evening was dark and stormy, but at the hour appointed I managed to get the portmanteau out of the inn unobserved, and met him on the beach. Quickly assuming the oilskin and sou’-wester he handed me, I jumped into a small boat with the four men—about as rough-looking a quartette as one could imagine—and a quarter of an hour later we boarded the smack that lay at anchor some distance from the shore. We lost no time in preparing to start, and soon hoisted sail, let go our moorings, and set our bows around the Goodwins in the direction of the Belgian coast. Gradually the weather grew more boisterous, and our boat laboured heavily through the rolling seas until midnight, when the storm abated. The men were on deck managing the craft, while I, with the portmanteau under the bench near me, sat alone in the corner of the narrow, dirty little cabin, smoking and reading a newspaper by the uncertain light of a swinging oil lamp. The motion of the boat must, I think, have lulled me to sleep, for I was suddenly awakened by hearing whispering near me. The lamp had gone out and I was in total darkness. I listened, feeling convinced that I had heard subdued voices. Suddenly hoarse, ominous words broke upon my ear. “Garn. Don’t be a fool, Ned. He’s got jewels in the bag wot he’s stole. There ain’t no reason why we shouldn’t share.” It was the voice of the skipper. “Hush! You’ll wake him,” exclaimed another voice. “If he stirs, darn him, we’ll chuck him overboard, like we did the other cove, that’s all.” I sat breathless, hesitating to move. It was plain that the men were a gang of unscrupulous villains who intended to rob me. While I was reflecting upon my position, I heard the portmanteau being dragged from under the seat where I had placed it. I knew I must act. “Well, what do you want with my bag, pray?” I cried, jumping to my feet. “Lie still, won’t you,” replied the skipper’s gruff voice; “we’re going to have our pick o’ the stones, and if you utter a word we’ll put you over where you can’t walk home.” “Oh, indeed,” I shouted, drawing my revolver and standing erect and resolute. “Although I can’t see you, you devils, the first one who touches my bag is a dead man.”