I dined with McShanus at eight o’clock that night and played a little piquet with him afterwards. He had now been admitted to my confidence, and knew a good deal of that which I surmised. “’Tis your opinion, then,” he had said, “that the men on yonder ship are going to receive the diamonds stolen from the mines of Africa? Man, could ye prove it, ’twould be the sensation of the universe.” I answered by reminding him of the immense value of the diamonds stolen every year from the mines of Kimberley alone. These, in spite of an astute police and a supervision passing all experience, make their way ultimately to Europe, and are trafficked in by the less scrupulous dealers. How is this to be accounted for? A similar question would ask how is it possible that stolen jewels, to the value of some millions of money or thereabouts, are hidden successfully from the world’s police every year? “Timothy,” I said, “I have formed the opinion that these jewels are hidden upon the sea. This ship we are following will receive a parcel of stolen diamonds between here and St. Helena Bay. She will carry them to a larger vessel now afloat upon the Atlantic. That greater ship, could you board her, would tell you the story of many a famous robbery, show the contents of many rifled safes, enlighten you as to the whereabouts of many a great jewel now advertised for by the police. I hope that the day will come when I shall step on the deck of that ship, and that you will accompany me, Timothy. One thing I have never doubted—it is my friend’s courage.” He liked the compliment, and banged the cabin table with his fist to emphasise it. “I’d cross mountains to go aboard her,” he said, with real feeling. “Don’t think ill of me if I doubt ’tis a mare’s nest ye are afther and that there may be disappointments. Ye said the night would tell us. Blame nobody if the night is silent, Ean, me bhoy.” “It will not be silent, Timothy. Here is Captain Larry tumbling down the companion to tell us so. He has come to say that there is a message, and that he has heard it. Now listen to him.” Honest Benjamin Larry, true son of Portsmouth despite his name, came blundering into the cabin as though the ship were afire. I had but to take one look at his bright eyes to know that he was there to justify me, and to say that the night was eloquent. “Doctor,” he cried, too excited almost to speak at all, “please to go up. There’s something happening.”