At Tillotson’s suggestion they had some dinner, and Glover fumed the afternoon away, while his friend hung about the quay. After tea his impatience got the better of his caution, and, pulling his hat over his eyes, he went on the quay too. Fifty yards beyond the _Seamew_ he found a post, and leaning against it with his friend, anxiously watched the deck of the schooner. “There’s three of ’em going ashore,” said Tillotson suddenly. “Look!” They watched breathlessly as the crew walked slowly off, and, dusk coming on, approached a little closer. “There’s that fellow Wilson,” said Glover, in a whisper. “Don’t look!” “Well, what’s the use of telling me?” said Tillotson reasonably. “He’s going ashore with another chap,” continued Glover excitedly— “the mate, I expect. Now’s your chance. Get him away, and I’ll stand you something handsome—upon my soul I will!” “What do you call something handsome?” inquired Tillotson, whose pulse was not so feverish as his friend’s. “Get him safe to London and I’ll stand a fiver,” said Glover. “Now go. I’ll stay here.” Mr. Tillotson, having got matters on a business footing, went, and, carelessly twisting his small moustache, slowly approached the schooner, on the deck of which was a small boy. “Is Captain Gething aboard, old man?” inquired Mr. Tillotson, in a friendly voice. “Down the cabin, I b’lieve,” said Henry, jerking his thumb. “I should like to see him,” said Mr. Tillotson. “I’ve got no objection,” said Henry. Charmed with his success, Mr. Tillotson stepped aboard and looked carelessly round. “He’s an old friend of mine,” he said confidentially. “What’s that you’re smoking?” “Shag,” was the reply. “Try a cigar,” said Mr. Tillotson, producing three in an envelope. “You’ll find them rather good.” The gratified Henry took one, and, first crackling it against his ear, smelt it knowingly, while Mr. Tillotson, in a leisurely fashion, descended to the cabin. A tea-tray and an untidy litter of cups and saucers stood on the table, at the end of which sat an old man with his folded hands resting on the table. “Good-evening,” said Mr. Tillotson, pausing at the doorway and peering through the gloom to make sure that there was nobody else present. “All alone?” “All alone,” repeated Captain Gething, looking up and wondering who this might be. “It’s too dark to see you far,” said Tillotson, in a mysterious whisper, “but it’s Captain Gething, ain’t it?” “That’s me,” said the Captain uneasily. “Going to Northfleet?” inquired Mr. Tillotson in another whisper. “What do you mean?” inquired the captain quickly, as he gripped the edges of the table. “Are you sure it’ll be all right?” continued Tillotson. “What do you mean?” repeated the captain from his seat. “Speak plain.” “I mean that you had better bolt,” said Tillotson in a hurried whisper. “There’s a heavy reward out for you, which Captain Wilson wants. You can’t do what you did for nothing, you know.”