They made their way to the “King of Hanover,” an old inn, perched on the side of the harbour, and, mounting the stairs, entered the coffee-room, where Mr. Stobell, after hesitating for some time between the rival claims of roast beef and grilled chops, solved the difficulty by ordering both. The only other occupant of the room, a short, wiry man, with a close-shaven, hard-bitten face, sat smoking, with a glass of whisky before him, in a bay window at the end of the room, which looked out on the harbour. There was a maritime flavour about him which at once enlisted Mr. Chalk’s sympathies and made him overlook the small, steely-grey eyes and large and somewhat brutal mouth. “Fine day, gentlemen,” said the stranger, nodding affably to Mr. Chalk as he raised his glass. Mr. Chalk assented, and began a somewhat minute discussion upon the weather, which lasted until the waiter appeared with the lunch. “Bring me another drop o’ whisky, George,” said the stranger, as the latter was about to leave the room, “and a little stronger, d’ye hear? A man might drink this and still be in the Band of Hope.” “We thought it wouldn’t do for you to get the chuck out of it after all these years, Cap’n Brisket,” said George, calmly. “It’s a whisky that’s kept special for teetotalers like you.” Captain Brisket gave a hoarse laugh and winked at Mr. Stobell; that gentleman, merely pausing to empty his mouth and drink half a glass of beer, winked back. “Been here before, sir?” inquired the captain. Mr. Stobell, who was busy again, left the reply to Mr. Chalk. “Several times,” said the latter. “I’m very fond of the sea.” Captain Brisket nodded, and, taking up his glass, moved to the end of their table, with the air of a man disposed to conversation. “There’s not much doing in Biddlecombe nowadays,” he remarked, shaking his head. “Trade ain’t what it used to be; ships are more than half their time looking for freights. And even when they get them they’re hardly worth having.” Mr. Chalk started and, leaning over, whispered to Mr. Tredgold. “No harm in it,” said the latter. “Better leave it to me. Shipping’s dull, then?” he inquired, turning to Captain Brisket. “Dull?” was the reply. “Dull ain’t no name for it.” Mr. Tredgold played with a salt-spoon and frowned thoughtfully. “We’ve been looking round for a ship this morning,” he said, slowly. “As passengers?” inquired the captain, staring. “As owners,” put in Mr. Chalk. Captain Brisket, greatly interested, drew first his glass and then his chair a yard nearer. “Do you mean that you want to buy one?” he inquired. “Well, we might if we could get one cheap,” admitted Tredgold, cautiously. “We had some sort of an idea of a cruise to the South Pacific; pleasure, with perhaps a little trading mixed up with it. I suppose some of these old schooners can be picked up for the price of an old song?”