Aaron glanced around. The room was filled with a motley throng of river-side loafers, with here and there a sprinkling of sailors. One huge Dutchman, in a soiled nautical uniform, was already furiously drunk. The two young men slipped up the stairs, to which the poet led the way, and passed through the door into the further apartment, just as the Dutchman's truculent eye fell upon them. "Shouldn't wonder if we didn't tumble across something in the way of an adventure here," the poet remarked cheerfully. "We ought to have changed our clothes. Hello, here's the boss." Mr. Jacob Potts, on his way down the long, dimly lit room, came to a sudden standstill. His expression scarcely confirmed the welcome which the heartiness of his invitation earlier in the day had promised. He glanced at the two visitors in something like dismay. Nothing, however, could damp the poet's spirits. "We've come down to see the scrap, guv'nor," he declared. "If you have," Mr. Jacob Potts replied, with something which sounded threatening in his tone, "you're welcome. If so be that you've any other reason for your coming, maybe a word of advice from me wouldn't be out of place, and that word's git." "When we've seen the scrap and not before," Cresswell chuckled. "Do you know that it cost the best part of a quid to get down here, guv'nor? Bring 'em in and let's see what stuff they're made of." Jacob Potts looked at the speaker doubtfully. "You've 'ad a drop, young fellow, you 'ave," he muttered. "Trenchantly and convincingly put, old chap," the poet replied, steadying himself by the back of the chair. "My dear friend and I are making an evening of it." Mr. Potts' face cleared a little. "Boys will be boys," he assented amiably, "and there's none of you the worse for a drop o' good liquor on board. Fact is I'm a bit jumpy to-night," he confessed. "My boys have got a little game on--to-night of all nights! Did you happen to notice," he asked anxiously, "if that goll-darned Dutchman was down there?" "There is a son of Holland in the bar," the poet replied, "in a glorious state of inebriation. He is seeking for some one to destroy. Tell you the truth, we fled before him. His eye rested upon us and he scowled." Mr. Jacob Potts lifted a blind and stared out towards the river. "That's his steamer lying there," he muttered. "I wish to God he'd get aboard her!" Aaron Rodd moved softly to his side. "Is this little game you spoke of," he enquired--"the game your boys have on to-night--the one which brought you up to consult me about maritime law this morning?" "It is," Jacob Potts admitted, "and wot about it?" Aaron Rodd shrugged his shoulders. Before he could reply, however, a gong sounded. The door of the room was thrown open and a surging mob from the bar streamed in. "Front seats," yelled the poet, making a dive forward, but Aaron caught him firmly by the arm.