Having despatched his subordinate on his curious mission, Captain Brant made a tour of his ship, inspecting every portion of her with as close an attention to detail as if she had been a man-of-war. The luxurious and beautifully-upholstered saloon on the upper deck received a large share of his critical scrutiny; while, in strange contrast, his next visit was to a cabin on the lower deck, down in the bowels of the vessel, which was hardly furnished at all, and was certainly not luxurious. A bare bench, with some sacking on it, suggested that it was meant for a bed, and that was about all. Screwed into the bulk-head over the bench was a massive iron ring, and there lay on the floor a longish chain and a complete set of leg-irons fitted with cruel anklets. The only means of light was a small porthole protected by bars. The place seemed to have been prepared as a lazaretto--a kind of maritime prison. Brant smiled grimly at the forbidding-looking chamber, then went back to the upper deck to await Cheeseman's return. Punctually at the stipulated time the bullet-headed mate appeared at the gangway. "Well, where are the things? Where is the stewardess?" the captain scowled at him, perceiving that he was empty-handed and unaccompanied. "The clothes will be delivered within half an hour; they had to make some alterations," Cheeseman hastened to assure him. "As to engaging a stewardess it's a dead failure. I saw one or two, but they won't join without fuller particulars of where we're bound for and how long we're to be away. I couldn't tell 'em, could I, seeing as I don't know myself." The captain fired off half-a-dozen foul-mouthed expletives, and only checked them when a telegraph boy skipped across the gang-plank and handed him an orange-coloured envelope. Tearing it open, he glanced at the contents and bade the youth begone. The form contained the single word "Advance." Brant tore it into little pieces, and threw them overboard. "Sailing orders," he said laconically. "Make things hum, Cheeseman. We must be off as soon as we get a full head of steam on her." In ten seconds the vessel was in a state of orderly confusion. The crew appeared as by magic from the forecastle and went to their stations; the engine-room staff mustered round the shining monsters that were their especial care; the lazy fumes of blue vapour hovering over the funnel from the banked fires changed to great coils of black smoke as the stokers got to work on the furnaces. Brant took his place on the bridge, and watched his gang of ruffians with sinister satisfaction. The period of suspense was over, and they would give him no more trouble now that the lust of gold was on them, and they were in a fair way to verify Nugent's promises of a princely wage. It was not long before the mate ran up the bridge stairs and reported a full head of steam and all ready to cast off. As he did so a cab rattled over the cobblestones of the quay road, and drew up opposite the _Cobra_.