“Can you get away to-morrow?” demanded Glover impatiently. “I am as free as the birds of the air,” responded Tillotson gloomily; “the only difference is, nobody puts out crumbs for me.” “I can reckon on you, then,” said Glover. “I thought I could. We have known each other a long time, Tillotson. There is nothing like an old friend when one is in trouble.” Mr. Tillotson assented modestly. “You won’t forget about Leatham and Roberts?” he said. “Of course not,” said Glover. “You see, it won’t do to be seen in this thing myself. What I want you to do is to come down with me to Stourwich and bring the old man to London; then I can find him at my own time, in the street or anywhere, quite haphazard like.” “I don’t quite see how it is to be done,” said Tillotson. “Meet me to-morrow morning at Waterloo, at ten minutes past eight,” said Glover, finishing his glass and rising; “and we will have a try, at any rate.” He shook hands with his friend, and following him down the uncarpeted stairs, said a few words at the door in favor of early rising, and departed to his place of business to make his own arrangements about the morrow. He was at the station and in the train first in the morning, Mr. Tillotson turning up with that extreme punctuality which enables a man to catch his train before it has got up full speed. “I was half afraid at one time that I shouldn’t have done it,” said Mr. Tillotson, in self-congratulation, as he fell on to the seat. “Smoker, too! Couldn’t have done better if I had been here at seven o’clock.” His friend grunted, and, there being nobody else in the carriage, began at once to discuss the practical part of the business. “If he could only read we might send a letter aboard to him,” said Mr. Tillotson, pushing his hat back. “The idea of a man his age not being able to!” “He’s one of the old school,” said Glover. “Funny sort of school,” said Tillotson flippantly. “Well, we must take our chance of him going for a walk, I suppose.” They reached Stourwich soon after midday, and Glover, keeping a wary look out for Wilson, proceeded slowly to the quay with his friend, leaving the latter to walk down and discover the schooner while he went and hired a first-floor room at the “Royal Porpoise,” a little bow-windowed tavern facing the harbor. “That’s the one,” said Mr. Tillotson, as he joined his friend upstairs and led him to the window; “that little craft there. See that old chap working with the rest?” Mr. Glover, who was focussing a pair of cheap field-glasses on to the schooner, gave a little exclamation of surprise. “That’s him, sure enough,” he said, putting down the glasses. “Now what are we to do?”