"Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Simpson. I won’t retort because you’ll be ill if I do. We’re in for bad weather in the Bay, I’m afraid. Glass falling with a run." "I’ve never been to sea before," remarked Gerald hopelessly, yet surprised that the captain should take his challenge so mildly. "Well, you’ll get your sea-legs on this voyage, I can tell you," laughed the heavy-jowled captain. At that moment the first mate came in, holding himself as he stood against the heavy rolling of the tramp steamer. "Cargo is shifting a bit in number four hold, sir," he said. "Shall I tell Jenkins to call the men and see to it?" "Yes. Do what the devil you like, Hutton," snapped the captain. "I see we’re in for hellish weather. Look at the glass!" "I noticed it half an hour ago, sir. We shall catch it strong after sundown." "Yes, we shall. Better make everything tight now." Then, turning to Durrant, Captain Bowden, refilling his pipe, remarked: "That’s the worst of these cursed old tubs. But you see, after the war they can’t get new ones. All those labour troubles on the Clyde have interfered with shipbuilding. I was promised a brand-new boat a year ago. But she’s still on the stocks. When she goes out I shall do the ferry trade from the Levant to London—four weeks out and home." "But, now tell me—who put me on board this ship?" asked Gerald. "Who put you on board? why, your friend, Mr. Morton." "My friend? Why, I don’t know the man!" Bowden smiled, and showed that he was not convinced. "What was this fellow Morton like?" inquired Durrant eagerly. "Describe him to me." "Oh! a rather tall, lean, herring-gutted chap, with a baldish head, and narrow little eyes," was the reply. "But you can’t tell me that you don’t know him. Why, you were with him when I promised to take you on this trip." "With him!" echoed Gerald. "I certainly was not." "Ah! The worst of you, Mr. Simpson, is that you’re so forgetful," exclaimed the breezy captain. "I’m not forgetful!" cried Durrant resentfully, rising to his feet again, and steadying himself from the slow roll of the ship. "How did you come to know this mysterious friend of mine—Morton, you say is his name?" "That’s my affair! You don’t believe me, so why should I bother to answer your questions?" "I don’t believe you when you say that I was here with you yesterday," was Gerald’s frank reply. "No, because your brain is addled," laughed Bowden deeply, knocking the ashes from his pipe. At that moment the ship’s bell clanged loudly, marking the time. It was eleven o’clock in the forenoon. "Yes, it is addled, I admit," said Durrant. "I’ve been the victim of a foul plot. I—well, let me tell you."