I opened wide the whisky locker under my bunk, so that any one sitting on the sofa could easily see the bottles of whisky and brandy standing in serried ranks, and then shouted into the mess that I was ready for the interview. The man with the whisky nose appeared immediately and took the seat I offered him on the sofa. It was only now that I saw to my horror that my uniform jacket, sword-belt, and cutlass were hanging beside the washstand. I promptly threw the towel, which I still held in my hand, over them, and had the satisfaction of noting that the Englishman had spotted nothing. During the conversation which ensued I was at first very surly and curt. When the usual questions, 'Where was I from?' and 'Where was I bound for?' had been disposed of, the Englishman asked me what my object was in anchoring here. I told him my engines had broken down, and that I had been forced to make for Tralee. He then expressed a wish to have a look at the holds. I was not particularly keen on that, but as I dared not let him see that I at once expressed my willingness. So we went on deck and proceeded first of all, needless to say, to No. 2 hold. There I shouted to Düsselmann (who in the meantime had gone back to the bridge after giving me one of his sly winks), to send me a couple of hands to take the hatches off. They came at once; and I had now reached a rather unpleasant stage in the proceedings. The next few seconds must decide if the comedy was going to succeed or if I should have to render the Englishman harmless. Fortunately, no one could see us, for the _Shatter_ had in the meantime made fast to our stern. The doughty warrior had forgotten his old pistol in my cabin, where my servant Bruhns had no doubt already found it. With nervous attention I followed every movement of the Englishman, ready at any moment to knock him down if necessary. As I was a much bigger man than he this would have been easy. I held my Browning pistol ready cocked in my pocket.