"But why, Captain Tanerton?" "We don't get on together. I never had an officer who gave me so much provocation--the Americans would say, who _riled_ me so. I believe the man dislikes me, and for that reason was insubordinate. He may do better in another ship. I am a strict disciplinarian on board." "Well," carelessly observed the broker, "you will have to make the best of him this voyage, Captain Tanerton. It is decided that he sails with you again." "Then, don't be surprised if there's murder committed," was Jack's impetuous answer. And Mr. Freeman stared: and noted the words. * * * * * The mid-day sun was shining hotly upon the London pavement, and especially upon the glittering gold band adorning the cap of a lithe, handsome young sailor, who had just got out of a cab, and was striding along as though he wanted to run a race with the clocks. It was Edward Pym: and the reader will please take notice that we have gone back a few days, for this was the day following Pym's arrival in London. "Halt a step," cried he to himself, his eye catching the name written up at a street corner. "I must be out of my bearings." Taking from his pocket a piece of paper, he read some words written there. It was no other than the address he had got from Bessy Huntsman the previous day. "Woburn Place, Russell Square," repeated he. "This is not it. I'll be shot if I know where I am! Can you tell me my way to Woburn Place?" asked he, of a gentleman who was passing. "Turn to the left; you will soon come to it." "Thank you," said Pym. The right house sighted at last, Mr. Pym took his standing in a friendly door-way on the other side of the road, and put himself on the watch. Very much after the fashion of a bailiff's man, who wants to serve a writ. He glanced up at the windows; he looked down at the doors; he listened to the sound of a church clock striking; he scraped his feet in impatience, now one foot, now the other. Nothing came of it. The rooms behind the curtained windows might be untenanted for all the sign given out to the eager eyes of Mr. Pym. "Hang it all!" he cried, in an explosion of impatience: and he could have sent the silent dwelling to Jericho. No man of business likes his time to be wasted: and Mr. Pym could very especially not afford to waste his to-day. For he was supposed to be at St. Katherine's Docks, checking cargo on board the _Rose of Delhi_. When twelve o'clock struck, the dinner hour, he had made a rush from the ship, telling the foreman of the shed not to ship any more cargo till he came back in half-an-hour, and had come dashing up here in a fleet cab. The half-hour had expired, and another half-hour to it, and it was a great deal more than time to dash back again. If anybody from the office chanced to go down to the ship, what a row there'd be!--and he would probably get his discharge.