“It is a bit queer, Mr. Huntley, but you were always a great hand for a lark,” said the clerk. “Thank you, I will do as you say.” The genuine colonists of King Osmond stole on board the _Tarlington_, singly, and by twos and threes, some before she pulled out of the docks, others by boat after she swung into the stream. At the same time the imitation voyagers from the employment agency were making as much noise and bustle as possible as they trooped on board the _Tyneshire Glen_. Captain O’Shea intended to convey the king from the hotel to the _Tarlington_, but at the last moment he was detained to quell a ruction in the forecastle. George Huntley had been unexpectedly summoned to the Hotel Cecil to see an American millionaire who was in a great hurry to charter a yacht. O’Shea therefore sent a message to His Majesty directing him to have his carriage driven to a certain landing on the river-front of the East India Docks, where he would be met by the chief officer of the _Tarlington_ and escorted aboard the ship. Within the same hour, the dignified, elderly clerk by the name of Thompson might have been seen to enter a carriage close by the Hotel Carleton, and those standing near heard him tell the driver to go to the steamer _Tyneshire Glen_. The chief officer of the _Tarlington_, waiting near an electric light at the landing-pier, abreast of which the steamer was anchored in the stream, felt a weight of responsibility for the safe delivery of King Osmond, and was easier in mind when he saw a carriage halt within a few yards of him. The window framed the kindly features, the white mustache and imperial, which the chief officer instantly identified. Hastening to assist His Majesty from the carriage, he announced apologetically: “Captain O’Shea sends his compliments and regrets that he is detained on board. The ship is ready as soon as you are.” The king murmured a word or two of thanks. The chief officer carefully assisted him to board the tug, which speedily moved away from the pier and turned to run alongside the _Tarlington_. The important passenger mounted the steamer’s gangway and stood upon the shadowy deck, whose row of lights had been purposely turned off lest his figure might be discernible from shore. Captain O’Shea was waiting to get the ship under way. It was no time for ceremony. The business of the moment was to head for the open sea, and beyond the reach of the British law and its officers. A few minutes later, Captain O’Shea hastened aft to greet His Majesty and explain his failure to welcome him on board. Meeting the chief officer, he halted to ask: “Everything all right, Mr. Arbuthnot? Did he ask for me? Did he give you any orders?” “All satisfactory, sir. The king said he was very tired and would go to his rooms at once.”