Instead of answering the question, Pierre took a lantern which hung at the entrance of the port bunker, and led the way along the machinery of the engine to a small door which opened into the after-hold. On each side of the engine was a store-room; and Pierre took a key from his pocket, and opened one of them. Gregory saw that it was the wine-room of the steamer. Upon skids on the floor were several casks; and above them were bins filled with bottles containing “vin ordinaire,” or common claret. On the other side were more bins, filled with other kinds of wine. “Plenty of wine,” said Pierre, as he pointed with entire satisfaction to the display of bottles. “This is the best;” and he took one from the bin he pointed at. Gregory read the label on the bottle, and understood the matter well enough to realize that it was a kind of Burgundy, much stronger than claret. He took a couple of the bottles from the bin, and put them in the pockets of his pea-jacket. “Give me that key, Pierre,” said Gregory. “No! no! no!” protested the Frenchman, with the greatest earnestness. Certainly Pierre had given his confidence to the officer without any reserve; but he had done so only after he had partaken of the wine offered him. Whether Pierre had any Arabian notions about hospitality, and believed that Gregory could not betray him after drinking out of the same bottle; or whether he thought that the officer could not misuse his secret after he had shared in the guilt by partaking of the stolen fruit, or the juice of it,--or not,--cannot be imagined; but he seemed to be as free with his officer as though he had been one of his companions in the fire-room. But Pierre had an opinion of his own in regard to the key; and he positively refused to give it up. Gregory began to feel the effects of the strong Burgundy in his head, for he could not carry off a whole tumbler of it without being fearfully shaken in his upper works. He felt the need of fresh air; for the hold was hot from the furnaces. He tottered back by the way he had come, followed by Pierre, who was evidently assured that he had made a friend of the first officer of the steamer, and that was almost as good as securing an alliance with the captain. The Frenchman assisted the officer of the deck out of the hold, for his steps were becoming more and more unsteady as the fumes of the wine rose in his head. “What is the row down in the fire-room?” asked Alexander, as the tipsy officer appeared in the engine-room. “Nothing particular,” replied Gregory, trying to stiffen the tones of his voice, which he could not help realizing were very shaky. “The Frenchmen feel good, and that makes them sing and talk loud; but they are so far from the cabin that they can’t be heard, and won’t disturb any one. Do you know whether there is any wine on board?” asked Gregory. “I don’t think there is; but I wish there were some, for I think a little of it would wake me up,” replied Alexander.