"Yes, it's in the way of duty; and, by the same token, the need for the duds is a sign that we are soon to clear out of this beastly port," said the captain, scratching his chin. "I've heard from the boss--the chap that was here the other day--and it seems that when we start we're to pick up a lady passenger, who will be in too great a hurry to bring her trunks aboard. So we're to buy some things for her, here in Weymouth. I'll give you a ten-pound note, and you can go ashore straight away and buy what's necessary for a three weeks' voyage." "Aye, aye, sir," replied the mate. "What about the size?" "I forgot that," cackled Brant, and he referred to the letter. "My eyes! but she must be a strapping fine girl--five feet ten high, and well proportioned as to other dimensions. That means that she ain't too broad in the beam, but just broad enough, I reckon. And there's another thing, Bully, my boy." "Sir to you." "It was thought that the lady's own maid would go the voyage with her, but it seems there's a doubt about it. Orders are to engage a woman to act as stewardess and general attendant to the passenger, it being owner's wish to show her every consideration in reason. While you're ashore after the nighties and things, you're to look out a female to suit the situation. Age and character immaterial. Any old geezer with a bad record will do, so long as she's got a good muscle on her." "Right-o!" responded the truculent-looking mate. "Seems like a kidnapping job, but that's no business o' mine." "And you wouldn't be chief officer on this ship for long if you were fool enough to make it so," Brant piped in his squeaky treble. "Now get ashore with you, and be back inside two hours with the drapery and the woman. I can see by the letter I've had that we may get sailing orders any minute." Cheeseman made a pretence of touching his cap, and vanished shoreward over the gangway. The _Cobra_ was still tied up to the quay at Weymouth, her highly-paid crew of scoundrels chafing against the delay which deferred their promised reward, but by this time thoroughly cowed by the vessel's weird commander. There was not a man on her who dared leave the ship without permission or definite orders. The grog-shops in full view of "the sleeping snake," as they had dubbed the steamer, had no longer temptation for men who knew that if they yielded to it, retribution would be swift and sure. It was wiser, they argued amongst themselves, to observe discipline and reap a harvest of shekels when the _Cobra's_ mission, whatever it might be, had been fulfilled. It was also the easier to keep them on board, since most of them had been selected because, for one reason or another, they were wanted by the police.