“Nor me,” said the Captain. After a long pause, he asked—“Wot are we agoin’ to do with ’im?” The question was answered for them, in an abrupt and startling manner; for another face—that of a very dirty, keen-eyed, ragged-headed urchin, whose bare feet had brought him silently over the muddy bank—was obtruded between them, and stared down into the face of the dead man. Before either of them had time to say a word, the urchin leapt to his feet again, with a cry, and scudded away in the direction of the nearest houses. “That’s done it,” murmured the Captain, in a resigned voice; “we’ll ’ave a policeman ’ere, in no time.” Then, a sudden thought striking him, he looked at the little man, and asked slowly—“Wot’s your opinion of ’ookin’ it, mess-mate?” Dr. Cripps appearing to be too dazed fully to comprehend the situation, the Captain took him by the shoulders—gave him a shake or two—and stated the case. “We can’t do no good by stoppin’ ’ere,” he said. “We shall only be ’awled up at the hinquest, an’ asked awkward questions. Nobody ain’t seen us—’cept that young limb—an’ I doubt if ’e knows us again. Therefore—wot I ses is—into the boat with yer—an’ let’s cut our lucky!” Cripps appearing to grasp this point, after some difficulty, they left the dead man on the shore, and pushed off the boat, and made for Woolwich. Going, without further mishap, up the stream, they landed at the causeway from which they had so unceremoniously started—apparently greatly to the surprise and satisfaction of the man to whom the boat belonged. “Got back, yer see,” said the Captain, carelessly, as he stepped on to the causeway, and gave a hand to the little man. “So I see,” replied the man, pocketing the money which the Captain handed to him. “’Ad a nice row?” “Oh—so-so,” responded the Captain. “I should like to give you an ’int, young man,” he added. “W’en you’re a shovin’ orf a boat nex’ time, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to give a man a chance of settin’ down fust. It ain’t wot you’d call a ’ealthy style of rowin’, w’en you starts on the back of yer neck; it don’t some’ow give yer as good a chance, as if yer started sittin’ down, with a proper ’old on the oars. _Good_-arternoon!” But, although the Captain was jocular, his heart was heavy; remembering the hiding and dodging process through which he had passed, in the company of the supposed Philip Crowdy, he began to see some dreadful tragedy—some foul play, which had caused the death of his friend. Yet, being but a simple seafaring man, and having a great dread of the power of the law, he saw himself in unheard-of difficulties, if he so much as attempted to stir in the matter. For had he not found the body—and then fled from it?