While I read of an overdue vessel which had just arrived with half her crew down with scurvy, I heard Mr. Ropesend’s name mentioned in a low tone by one of the clerks. I didn’t hear what was said in connection with his name, but, in spite of this, my curiosity was excited and I found myself listening attentively to the low, earnest voices of the men. This annoyed me extremely when I realized what I was doing, and I concentrated my thoughts upon the paper again. Picking out a most exciting incident, I read of how Amos White, a well-digger, had lit the fuses of three blasts in the bottom of an open caisson in the harbour. He had then started up the rope ladder, and it had parted and dropped him down upon them. With great presence of mind he had snuffed two of the fuses with his fingers, but the third had reached the tamping. Dropping flat on his breast, he instantly stuck his tongue into the hole and-- I felt a certain amount of relief when I found that Mr. White had saved himself from turning into an impromptu sky-pilot. Then my attention relaxed, and I was aware of the two clerks talking in an animated manner, with their voices still modulated, though louder than before. “The evidence is dead against Brown,” said one. “Anderson was pretty clear in his statement to Mr. Ropesend, and he is not the kind of man to incriminate any one unless he’s pretty certain about it.” “That’s all right! That’s all right! I’ll admit that,” said the one with his back toward me, in an excited and silly manner. “Anderson is pretty careful about his own skin, and that’s just what stumps me after all this talk about Brown and his sister. They are engaged, aren’t they?” “They are, and that’s just what makes me so certain he is right about it. He never would have kept so quiet about it if his sister wasn’t concerned. Brown will never know who gave him away.” “What did the books show, did you find out?” “Several thousand, I believe, but of course Brown will get his friends to make it good, and get away. He’s all right with Mr. Ropesend, somehow, and the old man, I hear, is going to send him off with Captain Crojack, so it can be hushed up.” “Well, I’m sorry for him, for one. He’s a good fellow, and he’s done more than one man a good turn through his influence. He never hesitates to help a friend, and that is more than can be said for Anderson. I never did like that fellow’s face--” Here I lost the drift of what was said. I had heard enough, however, to excite my curiosity again, and I sat wondering what had happened. Young Mr. Brown had been cashier for the firm for several years. I had met him several times in the shipping-house, and we held a sort of speaking acquaintance. He had handed me my last freight money when I was master of the _Southern Cross_. The man Anderson was bookkeeper for the firm and a nephew of Mr. Tackles, the junior member. I had never spoken to him, but knew him well enough by sight.