Captain Gething sat down in his seat again and shaded his face with his hand. “I’ll go back,” he said brokenly. “Wilson told me he was alive, and that it was all a mistake. If he’s lying to me for the price of my old neck, let him have it.” “What about your wife and daughter?” said Tillotson, who was beginning to have a strong disrelish for his task. “I saw in the paper last night that Wilson had got you. He’s gone ashore now to make arrangements at the station.” “He had a letter from my daughter this morning, said the old man brokenly. “He told you it was from her,” said Tillotson. “Get your things and come quick.” Excited by the part he was playing, he bent forward and clutched at the old man’s arm. Captain Gething, obedient to the touch, rose, and taking his battered cap from a nail, followed him in silence above. “We’re going for a drink,” said Tillotson to the boy. “We’ll be back in ten minutes.” “All right,” said Henry cheerfully; “wish I was going with you.” The other laughed airily, and gaining the quay, set off with the silent old man by his side. At first the captain went listlessly enough, but as he got farther and farther from the ship all the feelings of the hunted animal awoke within him, and he was as eager to escape as Tillotson could have wished. “Where are we going?” he inquired as they came in sight of the railway station. “I’m not going by train.” “London,” said Tillotson. “That’s the most likely place to get lost in.” “I’m not going in the train,” said the other doggedly. “Why not?” said Tillotson in surprise. “When they come back to the ship and find me gone they’ll telegraph to London,” said the old man. “I won’t be caught like a rat in a trap.” “What are you going to do, then?” inquired the perplexed Tillotson. “I don’t know,” said the old man. “Walk, I think. It’s dark, and we might get twenty miles away before daybreak.” “Yes, we might,” said Tillotson, who had no fancy for a nocturnal pilgrimage of the kind; “but we’re not going to.” “Let me go alone,” said the old man. Tillotson shook his head. “They’d be bound to spot you tramping about the country,” he said confidently. “Now do let me know what’s best for you, and go by train.” “I won’t,” said Gething obstinately. “You’ve been very kind, more than kind, in giving me warning. Let me go off by myself.” Tillotson shook his head and glanced carelessly in the direction of Glover, who was some few yards behind. “I wish you’d trust me,” he said earnestly. “You’ll be safer in London than anywhere.” Captain Gething pondered. “There’s a schooner about half a mile up the river, which is getting away about one o’clock this morning,” he said slowly. “I’ve worked on her once or twice, and the skipper might take us if you can pay him well. He knows me as Stroud.” “If you’ll wait here a minute or two I’ll go to the railway station and get my bag,” said Tillotson, who wanted to confer with his chief.