Davie Flett quietly stroked his bristly chin, saying: "Weel, Carver Kinlay, it's the first time I have heard of a pilot having a hand in that business. But, no doubt, a pilot has grand facilities. However that may be, I'm not sure that the Orkney crofters would welcome such a new line of business. Anyway, I have more respect for the crofters and for their poor families than to think of starting such a damnable traffic; nor am I in the least disposed to turn a schooner of mine into a floating grog shop. Good morning, pilot!" Kinlay winced visibly under this taunting speech of the trading captain. Evidently he had mistaken his man in supposing that Flett would descend to his own level, and aid in promoting the nefarious traffic he suggested. Davie Flett's intimate knowledge of the Orcadians, and the nature of his commerce with them, would certainly have made it easy for him to do a considerable retail trade. But, as I well knew, the skipper of the Falcon had systematically avoided including spirits in his stock of marketable commodities. Though himself no enemy to an occasional dram on a cold night, he knew too well the evil effects that would probably follow the introduction of strong drink among the innocent islanders, who, for the most part, had the greatest difficulty in gaining a simple livelihood. Even apart from his moral scruples, Davie Flett had excellent reasons for rejecting Kinlay's singular proposal. One thing that I gathered from this conversation was the suspicion that Carver, who had often posed as a very innocent man, was, either directly or indirectly, in league with the smugglers of Scapa Flow. That could be the only way in which he could obtain spirits or other illicit goods at a lower rate than through the ordinary channels of commerce; and the pilot's evasion of the question regarding excise almost confirmed my suspicions. Kinlay walked slowly away, and when he had disappeared, Davie Flett turned round to me with open arms as though he would embrace me. "Halcro, my lad," said he, "I am real glad to see you. Thank the Lord ye're safe!" "I might say the same to you, captain," said I. "How were ye rescued, and where are Peter and Jerry?" "Peter and Jerry are at Oliver Gray's," he answered. "Come, let us join them. As for mysel', why, there's nothing much to tell. I was picked up by the boat ten minutes after I dropped owerboard. We searched about for you all night. But ye mind what a mist was ower the sea. It was no wonder we lost sight of the schooner. But ye're safe, and that's a blessing." The skipper then began to ask me a multitude of questions concerning the behaviour of the schooner. But we were now passing through the narrow street and I was interrupted; for we overtook old Colin Lothian, the wandering beggar, who was trudging along over the frost-covered stones with his dog at his heels.