"What would you do in my place? It may be a joke, and then again it may not. She knew that I was a rank impostor." "But she knew that a man must have a certain kind of daredevil courage to play the game you played. Well, you ask me what I should do in your place. I'd go." "I shall. It will double discount fishing. And the more I think of it, the more certain I become that she and I have met somewhere. By-by!" Cathewe lingered in the reading-room, pondering. Here was a twist to the wager he was rather unprepared for; and if the truth must be told, he was far more perplexed than Fitzgerald. He knew the girl, but he did not know and could not imagine what purpose she had in aiding Fitzgerald to win his wager or luring him out to an obscure village in this detective-story manner. "Well, I shall hear all about it from her father," he concluded. And all in good time he did. CHAPTER IV PIRATES AND PRIVATE SECRETARIES It was a little station made gloomy by a single light. Once in so often a fast train stopped, if properly flagged. Fitzgerald, feeling wholly unromantic, now that he had arrived, dropped his hand-bag on the damp platform and took his bearings. It was after sundown. The sea, but a few yards away, was a murmuring, heaving blackness, save where here and there a wave broke. The wind was chill, and there was the hint of a storm coming down from the northeast. "Any hotel in this place?" he asked of the ticket agent, the telegraph operator, and the baggageman, who was pushing a crate of vegetables off a truck. "Swan's Hotel; only one." "Do people sleep and eat there?" "If they have good digestions." "Much obliged." "Whisky's no good, either." "Thanks again. This doesn't look much like a summer resort." "Nobody ever said it was. I beg your pardon, but would you mind taking an end of this darned crate?" "Not at all." Fitzgerald was beginning to enjoy himself. "Where do you want it?" "In here," indicating the baggage-room. "Thanks. Now, if there's anything I can do to help you in return, let her go." "Is there a house hereabouts called the top o' the hill?" "Come over here," said the agent. "See that hill back there, quarter of a mile above the village; those three lights? Well, that's it. They usually have a carriage down here when they're expecting any one." "Who owns it?" "Old Admiral Killigrew. Didn't you know it?" "Oh, Admiral Killigrew; yes, of course. I'm not a guest. Just going up there on business. Worth about ten millions, isn't he?" "That and more. There's his yacht in the harbor. Oh, he could burn up the village, pay the insurance, and not even knock down the quality of his cigars. He's the best old chap out. None of your red-faced, yo-hoing, growling seadogs; just a kindly, generous old sailor, with only one bee in his bonnet." "What sort of bee?" "Pirates!" in a ghostly whisper. "Pirates? Oh, say, now!" with a protest.