"I was in a sense tricked into it, sir, and when we got to Gheria Captain Barker and Mr. Diggle the supercargo sold me to Angria." "Sold you to the Pirate?" "Yes, sir." "And where do you hail from, then?" "Shropshire, sir; my father was Captain Richard Burke, in the Company’s service." "Jupiter! You’re Dick Burke’s son! Gad, sir, give me your hand; I knew Dick Burke; many’s the sneaker of Bombay punch we’ve tossed off together. No nonsense about Dick; give me your fist. And so you sneaked out of Gheria and sailed this grab, eh? Well, you’re a chip of the old block, and a credit to your old dad. I want to hear all about this. And you’ll have to come ashore and see the Governor." "It’s very kind of you, Mr. Johnson, but really I can’t appear before the Governor in this rig." He glanced ruefully at his bare legs and feet and tattered garments. "True, you en’t very ship-shape, but we’ll soon alter that. Ever use a razor?" "Not yet, sir," replied Desmond with a smile. "Thought not. Plenty of native barbers. You must get shaved. And I’ll rig you up in a suit of some sort. You must see the Governor at once, and no nonsense." "What about the grab, sir?" "Leave that to me. You’ve got a pretty mixed crew, I see. All escaped prisoners too?" "All but four." "And not one of ’em to be trusted, I’ll swear. Well I’ll put a crew aboard to take charge. Come along; there’s no time to lose. Colonel Clive goes to bed early." "Colonel Clive! Is he here?" "Yes; arrived from home two days ago. Ah! that reminds me; you’re a Shropshire lad; so’s he; do you know him?" "No, sir; I’ve seen him; I--I----" Desmond stammered, remembering his unfortunate encounter with Clive in Billiter Street. "Well, well," said the superintendent, with a quizzical look; "you’ll see him again. Come along." Desmond accompanied Mr. Johnson on shore. A crowd had gathered. There were sepoys in turban, cabay,[#] and baggy drawers; bearded Arabs; Parsis in their square brimless hats; and a various assortment of habitués of the shore--crimps, landsharks, badmashes,[#] bunder[#] gangs. Seeing Desmond hold his nose at the all-prevailing stench of fish Mr. Johnson laughed. [#] Cloak. [#] Rowdy characters. [#] Port. "You’ll soon get used to that," he said. "’Tis all fish-oil and bummaloes[#] in Bombay." [#] Small fish the size of smelt, known when dried as "Bombay duck." Having sent a trustworthy crew on board the Tremukji, the superintendent led Desmond to his house near the docks. Here, while a native barber plied his dexterous razor on Desmond’s cheeks and chin, Mr. Johnson searched through a miscellaneous hoard of clothes in one of his capacious presses for an outfit. He found garments that proved a reasonable fit, and Desmond, while dressing, gave a rapid sketch of his adventures since he left the prison-shed in Gheria.