The crew loafed about the schooner's deck forward, and the grumble of their voices came aft, along with the scent of tobacco-smoke. They slept in a deck-house, with three windows of a side, and spikes of light shot from those windows, occasionally glancing on the figure of a passing man, and falling in streams of radiance upon the bulwarks. Besides this deck-house, the schooner owned a small forecastle, containing three or four bunks. 'I don't know how it may be with you, Vi,' said Mr. Vanderholt, pressing his daughter's arm affectionately against his side, 'but I give you my word I feel better already.' 'That's a good thing,' exclaimed the young lady. 'I wish George were with us.' 'George is not two men. He can't be in India and here at the same time.' 'He ought to be here, by my side,' said Miss Vanderholt. 'Oh, how delicious the voyage would then be! I should not object to your sailing round the world.' 'Make the youngster give up the army. He's got means of his own, and _you'll_ be pretty well off, I hope,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'If you go out to India I shall be alone, and you'll die of some distemper, engendered by what is there called "a station." No good in titular dignity. The land teems with captains and colonels; and a time may come when a man will be respected because he is not a major-general. It would be different if George was in the Dutch army.' He was proceeding, when he suddenly stopped, catching a noise of oars on the bow, and suddenly a long, sharp-stemmed boat, apparently a police boat, shot out of the gloom, and a powerful voice hailed: 'Schooner ahoy!' 'Hallo!' answered Captain Glew, who was leaning over the side, at a respectful distance from the father and daughter, furtively smoking a cheroot. 'I want to come aboard of you.' In a minute the boat was alongside, and a couple of men sprang over the rail. 'What vessel's this?' said one of the men, who, like his companion, wore a tall, glazed hat, and was swathed to the throat in overcoat and shawls. 'The _Mowbray_, privately owned. What's your business?' said Captain Glew. 'We're Bow Street officers. We're searching the shipping for a man named Simmons. D'ye want to see our warrant?' 'What's he charged with?' said Mr. Vanderholt, coming with his daughter on his arm from the other side of the deck. 'Murder!' was the answer. Miss Vanderholt screamed. Her father said instantly: 'Search my ship by all means. I hope the man may not be on board of us. If he is, I do not sail. Captain Glew, render these two officers every assistance.'