“Now,” said a determined voice, “I've got ye at last! This time I've caught ye dead to rights! Now, by godfreys, you'll pay me for them lobsters!” CHAPTER XIX If I had been giving undivided attention to my combined duties as steersman and pilot, instead of neglecting them for other and more engrossing matters, I should, doubtless, have seen the dory before. As it was I had not seen it at all, nor heard the oars. It had sneaked up on the Comfort out of the darkness and its occupant had laid us aboard as neatly as you please. I was, to say the least, startled and surprised. I dodged the threatening club and turned a dazed face toward the person brandishing it. He appeared to be a middle-sized, elderly person, in oilskins and souwester, and when he spoke a gray whisker wagged above the chin strap of the souwester. “Who in blazes are you?” I demanded, as soon as I could get the words together. “Never you mind that. You know who I be all right enough. Be you goin' to pay me for them lobsters? That's what _I_ want to know.” “What lobsters?” “Them lobsters you've been stealin' out of my pots for the last fortnight.” “_I_ have been stealing?” “Yes, you. I been layin' for you all night long. I don't know who you be, but you'll pay for them lobsters or come along with me to the lock-up, one or t'other.” I looked about, over the water. The light toward which I had been trying to steer blazed dead ahead, surprisingly near and bright. Except for that, however, there was no sign of anything except darkness and waves. “Look here, my man,” I said. “I haven't stolen your lobsters; but--” “I know better. I don't know who you be, but I'd know you was a thief if I run acrost you in prayer-meetin'. Just to look at you is enough.” I heard a hysterical giggle from the bench beside me. Evidently the person with the club heard it, too, for he leaned forward to look. “So there's two of ye, eh!” he said. “Well, by godfreys, I don't care if there's a million! You'll pay for them lobsters or go to the lock-up.” I laughed aloud. “Very well,” I said. “I am agreeable.” “You're agreeable! What do you mean by that? This ain't no laughin' matter, I'll tell you that.” I laughed again. “I don't care what you tell me,” I observed. “And if you will take us somewhere ashore--to the lock-up or anywhere else--I shall be much obliged.” The occupant of the dory seemed to be puzzled. He leaned forward once more. “What sort of talk is that?” he demanded. “Where's my lobsters? . . . Hey! What? I swan to man, I believe one of ye's a woman! Have the females turned thieves, too?” “I don't know. See here, my friend, my name is Paine, and I'm the only lobster aboard this craft. This lady and I belong in Denboro. My launch has run out of gasolene and we have been drifting about the bay since five o'clock. Now, for heaven's sake, don't talk any more, but take us to the lock-up and be quick about it.”