Frank stepped into the pilot-house and gave Barney orders to lie by and wait for their return. Then he put on a light overcoat, as did Wade, and they were ready for the visit. Very soon a dark object came bounding over the waves toward them. It was the yacht’s boat. Presently it reached the gangway of the Diver. “Ahoy!” came the hail; “this is the Meta’s boat waiting for Captain Reade.” “All right,” cried Frank, as he slid down into the boat. He was followed by Wade. A moment later four strong oarsmen were rowing them rapidly over to the yacht. Once alongside it was an easy matter to mount the gangway and meet the captain of the Meta awaiting them at the rail. He was a tall, powerfully framed man, and in the glare of the lanterns he was seen to be possessed of a dark, stern cast of features. Frank’s first glance was not exactly a favorable one. He shook hands. “This is Mr. Reade, I presume?” asked the captain of the yacht. “It is,” replied Frank. “And this, I presume, is Captain Poole? I have brought my friend, Mr. Wilbur Wade, with me.” Poole gave Wade a critical glance. “You are both welcome,” he said. “Come into the cabin.” Without further ceremony they followed the schooner’s captain. The cabin of the Meta was richly furnished. But both Frank and Wade noted one curious fact. Every man of the schooner’s crew, and even Poole himself carried arms. They wore belts and revolver pouches. In these piping times of peace—and certainly in these seas—this could but be regarded as very strange. To the visitors it even had a sinister look. On their way to the cabin Wade had an opportunity to whisper to Frank: “Did you note those pistols?” “Yes,” replied Frank. “Are they cranks or pirates?” Frank could hardly restrain a laugh. “It is very mysterious!” he said. “Keep your eyes open. We will soon find out what it means.” As they entered the cabin Poole motioned them to seats at a table. He sat opposite. He was now plainly revealed in the glare of the cabin lamp. As his visitors thus got a good look at him, each experienced a peculiar sensation. It seemed almost like a chill. In all his life Frank thought he had never seen a man of such remarkable appearance. His features were long and almost cadaverous. His eyes dark and piercing and burning with a strange light. He wore a sharp imperial and pointed mustache, with a saturnine smile which gave a truly Mephistophelian appearance. In plain terms he was out and out the thorough type of the villain. Such both Frank and Wade adjudged him. For a moment they sat there facing this strange being, who seemed like a portrait from a piratical past. Poole’s shifty gaze roamed over them, and then he spoke: “I am honored by this visit, Mr. Reade. It is certainly fate which has thrown us together in this way, for I am very sure that we may be of mutual service to each other.” “Indeed!” said Frank, with a little surprise; “I shall be pleased to know just how.”