"Well, I _am_ glad to see you, Sir Antony, but why ever didn't you let me know you were coming? I'd have had the gig ashore ready for you." Tony shook hands warmly with him, and then turned to greet Mr. McEwen, the chief engineer, who came shambling up from below with a gleam of welcome showing through a forest of red whiskers. "I don't like having the gig waiting for me," explained Tony. "It always makes me feel as if I was Sir Thomas Lipton." They remained chatting for a moment or two, and then moved off across the deck, Tony stopping to exchange a word or two with various members of the crew, who all saluted him with the friendly grin of old acquaintance. It was not often that there was a new hand on board the _Betty_. Captain Simmons led the way to his own cabin, where the time honoured ceremony of drinking a toast to the ensuing season having been duly discharged, he proceeded to add some further details to the brief report of his preparations that he had already sent along by post. "I think you'll find everything nice and shipshape by Thursday, Sir Antony," he finished with a touch of self-pride. "Not knowing exactly where we were bound for I may have allowed a bit too much margin on the stores, but then I wasn't expecting those packages you sent from London." "It's an error in the right dimension," observed Tony contentedly. "We are thinking of going to Buenos Ayres to start with, and I always find the Atlantic very stimulating to one's appetite." "Buenos Ayres!" repeated the skipper with interest. "And a very nice run too, sir." He turned to the chief engineer. "Just about twenty days out--eh, Mr. McEwen?" The latter shifted his cigar to the corner of his mouth, and nodded gravely. "Aye," he remarked; "though it might have been another tale if we hadna' found out the fule's work that veesitor friend o' yours was up to in the engine-room, Sir Antony.' "Ah!" said Tony: "that's one of the things I wanted to ask about. What sort of a person was he?" There was a moment's pause. "What sort of a person!" repeated the skipper. "Do you mean that you don't know him--that you didn't give him that card?" "I have never heard of him in my life," said Tony tranquilly. With a strange noise, such as a tiger would probably make if somebody trod upon his toe, Mr. McEwen turned to the skipper. "Did I no tell ye that the mon was an impostor?" he demanded excitedly. Fumbling in his waistcoat pocket, Captain Simmons produced a dirty and crumpled visiting card, which he held out to Tony. "It's only a chance that I didn't tear it up," he observed rather grimly. Tony took the card which, despite its dilapidated appearance, had every appearance of being one of his own. He was just able to make out the following half obliterated message scribbled across it in pencil. Mr. Hemmingway is a friend of mine. Please allow him to look over the _Betty_. A.C.