Slowly and carefully Johnny Kent possessed himself of this information with never a flicker of a smile. The solution of the mystery of King Osmond I impressed him as neither grotesque nor curiously mediæval. In all London the King of Trinadaro could not have found two men of readier mind to fall in with his project and pretensions. To play at being a king on a desert island, to have the means to make it all come true--why, thought Johnny Kent, and he knew O’Shea must instantly agree with him, any man worth his salt would jump at the chance. He was anxious to pass the tidings on to his comrade, and when the conversation slackened he edged in: “We must be on our way, Cap’n Mike. His Majesty is good-hearted to listen to us, but it ain’t polite to talk his ear off.” With this speech went so elaborate a wink that O’Shea comprehended that the engineer had something up his sleeve. Their host cordially declared that he must see them again, and made an appointment for ten o’clock of the next forenoon. They took their departure after friendly farewells and steered a course for Blackwall and the tavern of the Jolly Mermaid. O’Shea was as delighted as a boy to learn that Osmond I was about to found an island kingdom. It was a more attractive revelation than if he had been discovered to be the inconsequential ruler of some effete little domain of Europe. And if one planned to set himself up in business as a sovereign, it was proper to use all the pomp and trappings and ceremony that belonged to the game. “If he is to have a navy,” cried O’Shea as he pounded his friend on the back, “I know where he can find an admiral and a fleet engineer.” “Not so fast, Cap’n Mike. I have a notion that he’ll have his own troubles gettin’ to his kingdom. Any man that can be buncoed as easy as he was is liable to have all his playthings taken away from him before he has a chance to use ’em. I’ll feel safer about him when he gets clear of London River.” Before seeking the royal audience next morning they went to Leadenhall Street to see George Huntley. The ship-broker greeted them indignantly. “You would try to hoodwink me, would you?” exclaimed he. “I have found out who your mysterious king is. I received a letter from him last night, asking information about the price of the _Tyneshire Glen_. I had no idea it was this crazy Colonel Sydenham-Leach that calls himself ruler of Trinadaro.” “Own up like a man, George,” shouted O’Shea. “Ye would like nothing better than to be this kind of a king yourself.” “You have read my thoughts like a wizard. But, confound you, you have spoiled the sale of a steamer for me. How about that?” “We have tried to keep an estimable king from going to Davy Jones’s locker in a floating coffin that ye call the _Tyneshire Glen_,” severely retorted O’Shea. “Have ye any steamers that will pass honest men’s inspection?” “Plenty of them,” promptly answered Huntley.