“I’ll tell you what I think will be a good plan,” he said. “I know a man who has a little boat down here which he isn’t using, and I’m sure I can arrange to get the loan of her for a week or two. Suppose I anchor her about as far away on the other side of the brown cutter as your steam launch is on this side. Then I can keep an eye upon the cutter at night, and if by any chance she tried to give us the slip, and made, as I expect she would, for the open sea, she’d have to run almost into your arms to do it. I should of course follow and hail you to give chase as I went by, when you could soon overtake her. If, on the other hand, she goes up the river, it’ll be as easy as driving a cow into a pen, for once in she’ll have us behind her like a cork in the neck of a bottle; and even if she gets a bit of a start at first, a sailing-boat would stand no chance in a race against steam. What do you think of it?” I replied that I thought it capital, and after we had arranged a means of communication I got into the dinghy to row back to the steam launch, and Grant set off again for Southend to put his plan into effect. The very next morning, as I was cooking a haddock for breakfast, one of my men put his head into the little cabin. “Are you expecting any one from Southend, sir?” he said. “There’s a man coming out in the skiff, and I think he’s making for us. Seems in a hurry too.” I stepped outside and looked in the direction indicated, and there, sure enough, was a rowing-boat coming along at a great pace, and apparently heading directly for the steam launch. As soon as the skiff was within hailing distance its occupant looked over his shoulder, relinquished a scull, and, arching his hand to windward over his mouth, hailed us lustily. “Ahoy there! Are you the ‘Maybelle’?” “‘Maybelle’ it is,” I bellowed, and, once more bending to his task, the fellow was alongside of us in half a minute. “Mr. Max Rissler?” he inquired. “Yes, my man, I’m Mr. Rissler. What is it?” I replied. “A letter, sir. I was to be as quick as I could about it,” he said, handing me with his right hand a note which he had taken from the lining of his cap, and smearing his forehead with the back of his left hand, as if to hint that if he were damp outside he was dry within. “Give him some beer,” I said to my skipper, as I opened the note. It was in Grant’s writing, and was as follows:-- “Come as fast as you can to Going’s Oyster Bar, in the High Street, exactly opposite the Royal Hotel. Come ready to go to town if necessary. If I’m gone when you get to Going’s, wait there till you receive wire from me. “F. G.”