The hands went forward, and the skipper and mate descended to the cabin and prepared for sleep. The skipper set a lamp on the table ready for Mr. Hutchins when he should return, and after a short inward struggle bade the mate “good-night,” and in a couple of minutes was fast asleep. At four o’clock the mate woke suddenly to find the skipper standing by his berth. The lamp still stood burning on the table, fighting feebly against the daylight which was pouring in through the skylight. “Not turned up yet?” said the mate, with a glance at the visitor’s empty berth. The skipper shook his head spiritlessly and pointed to the table. The mate following his finger, saw a small canvas bag, and by the side of it four-pence halfpenny in coppers and an unknown amount in brace buttons. “There was twenty-three pounds freight money in that bag when we left London,” said the skipper, finding his voice at last. “Well, what do you think’s become of it?” inquired the mate, taking up the lamp and blowing it out. “I can’t think,” said the skipper, “my ’ed’s all confused. Bro—Mr. Hutchins ain’t come back yet.” “I s’pose he was late and didn’t like to disturb you,” said the mate without moving a muscle, “but I’ve no doubt ’e’s all right. Don’t you worry about him.” “It’s very strange where it’s gone, George,” faltered the skipper, “very strange.” “Well, ’Utchins is a generous sort o’ chap,” said the mate, “’e give the men five pounds for nothing, so perhaps he’ll give you something—when ’e comes back.” “Go an’ ask the crew to come down here,” said the skipper, sinking on a locker and gazing at the brazen collection before him. The mate obeyed, and a few minutes afterwards returned with the men, who, swarming into the cabin, listened sympathetically as the skipper related his loss. “It’s a mystery which nobody can understand, sir,” said old Dan when he had finished, “and it’s no use tryin’.” “One o’ them things what won’t never be cleared up properly,” said the cook comfortably. “Well, I don’t like to say it,” said the skipper, “but I must. The only man who could have taken it was Hutchins.” “Wot, sir,” said Dan, “that blessed man! Why, I’d laugh at the idea.” “He couldn’t do it,” said the boy, “not if he tried he couldn’t. He was too good.” “He’s taken that twenty-three poun’,” said the skipper deliberately; “eighteen, we’ll call it, because I’m goin’ to have five of it back.” “You’re labourin’ under a great mistake, sir,” said Dan ambiguously. “Are you going to give me that money?” said the skipper loudly. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, no,” said the cook, speaking for the rest, as he put his foot on the companion-ladder. “Brother ’Utchins gave us that money for singing them ’ims so well. ’E said so, and we ain’t ’ad no call to think as it warn’t honestly come by. Nothing could ever make us think that, would it, mates?” “Nothing,” said the others with exemplary firmness. “It couldn’t be done.”