"Shove off!" the man cried, who was standing up; and as he shouted he lurched and fell into the bottom of the boat. The two men in the bows pushed off with their oars; but they were too late. The cutter's bulwark caught the boat under the keel; it seemed she must be upset, and men and boxes whelmed in the sea, unless a miracle happened. But the miracle did happen. As the fish-cutter righted she scooped on to her deck the boat, with its boxes and its crew. The incident all seemed to happen within the fraction of a second. Not a man upon the fish-cutter had time to throw out a rope. Warrisden saw the cutter's bulwarks dip, the sailor falling in the boat, and the boat upon the deck of the cutter in so swift a succession that he had not yet realised disaster was inevitable before disaster was avoided. The sailor rose from the bottom of the boat and stepped on deck, a stalwart, dripping figure. "From the _Perseverance_, sir. Nine boxes," he said, looking up to the captain on the bridge; and Warrisden, leaning by the captain's side upon the rail, knew the sailor to be Tony Stretton. The accent of the voice would have been enough to assure him; but Warrisden knew the face too. "This is the man I want," he said to the captain. "You must be quick, then," the captain replied. "Speak to him while the boat is being unloaded." Warrisden descended on to the deck. "Mr. Stretton," said he. The sailor swung round quickly. There was a look of annoyance upon his face. "You are surely making a mistake," said he, abruptly. "We are not acquainted," and he turned back to the fish-boxes. "I'm not making a mistake," replied Warrisden. "I have come out to the North Sea in order to find you." Stretton ceased from his work and stood up. He led the way to the stern of the cutter, where the two men were out of earshot. "Now," he said. He stood in front of Warrisden, in his sea-boots and his oilskins, firmly planted, yet swaying to the motion of the ship. There was not merely annoyance in his face, but he had the stubborn and resolute look of a man not lightly to be persuaded. Standing there on the cutter's deck, backed by the swinging seas, there was even an air of mastery about him which Warrisden had not expected. His attitude seemed, somehow, not quite consistent with his record of failure. "Now," said Stretton, "we must be quick. The sea is getting worse each minute, and I have to get back to the _Perseverance_. You are----?" "Alan Warrisden, a stranger to you." "Yes," Stretton interrupted; "how did you find me out?" "Chase told me." Stretton's face flushed angrily. "He had no right to tell you. I wished for these few weeks to be alone. He gave me his word he would tell no one." "He had to break his word," said Warrisden, firmly. "It is necessary that you should come home at once."