I did not intend on this occasion to waste time in trying to find out whether Hughes had any one on board with him or not, especially as I was now without Quickly’s assistance. This was a case in which it seemed to me safer to achieve my purpose by a bold stroke than to adopt the more cautious course of beating about the bush. The thing to do would be to engage Hughes in conversation, and when he was off his guard to charge him suddenly with sheltering a fugitive from justice on board the “Cuban Queen.” The cleverest rogue is apt to betray himself when a surprise is thus sprung upon him, and such a clumsy rascal as Hughes should not be difficult to deal with. I did not doubt that he would deny the impeachment with much bluster and more bad language, but by keeping a keen eye upon his face when playing my game of “bluff” I hoped to be able to come to some definite conclusion in regard to the theory I had formed concerning Mullen’s whereabouts. But I had yet to catch the hare which I felt so competent to cook, and of the two tasks the former promised to be the more difficult. Hughes, as the reader already knows, did not often leave the hulk, and as it was quite out of the question that I should seek him there, some plan for making it necessary for him to come ashore must be devised. After much brain-cudgelling I hit upon an idea which I immediately proceeded to carry out. The oil which was burned in Hughes’ cabin was taken out to him every Monday and Thursday by the attendant whose duty it was to fetch and carry for the caretakers of the hulks. I knew that it was so as the man had to pass my door on his way to the boat, and I had seen the tin can in his hand repeatedly. As a matter of fact, I was at that moment reminded of the matter, for the day was Thursday, and the man in question was just going by my gate, carrying the can in one hand and a small sack of potatoes in the other. If I did not avail myself of this opportunity I should have to wait until the following Monday before taking action, so I at once opened the door and hailed him. “I want you to do a little commission for me,” I said. “You’ll be going down to the village some time to-day, I know. Could you leave a letter to Mr. Hayes at the vicarage?” “Yes, sir,” he said civilly; “with pleasure.” “That’s right. Put that sack and the can down and come into the other room while I scribble the letter. I daresay I can find you a glass of grog in there and a cut of cold beef if you feel like having a mouthful.” “Thank you, sir,” he said, unburdening himself of his load and following me into the inner room. I had not finished my own breakfast very long, and a small joint was still on the table. “Pull up and help yourself,” I said, producing knife and fork. “What’ll you have to drink? I’ve got some old rum. How’ll that suit you?” “Capital, sir,” he replied. “All right. It’s in the other room, I think. I’ll be back in a moment. You make a start, meanwhile, on the cold beef.”