"If they want it," said the clerk; "sometimes they don't. But we paid the Kanaka's passage to Honolulu this morning; and by what Captain Trent was saying, I understand the rest are going home together." "Then you haven't paid them?" said I. "Not yet," said the clerk. "And you would be a good deal surprised if I were to tell you they were gone already?" I asked. "O, I should think you were mistaken," said he. "Such is the fact, however," said I. "I am sure you must be mistaken," he repeated. "May I use your telephone one moment?" asked Pinkerton; and as soon as permission had been granted, I heard him ring up the printing-office where our advertisements were usually handled. More I did not hear, for, suddenly recalling the big bad hand in the register of the What Cheer House, I asked the consulate clerk if he had a specimen of Captain Trent's writing. Whereupon I learned that the captain could not write, having cut his hand open a little before the loss of the brig; that the latter part of the log even had been written up by Mr. Goddedaal; and that Trent had always signed with his left hand. By the time I had gleaned this information Pinkerton was ready. "That's all that we can do. Now for the schooner," said he; "and by to-morrow evening I lay hands on Goddedaal, or my name's not Pinkerton." "How have you managed?" I inquired. "You'll see before you get to bed," said Pinkerton. "And now, after all this backwarding and forwarding, and that hotel clerk, and that bug Bellairs, it'll be a change and a kind of consolation to see the schooner. I guess things are humming there." But on the wharf, when we reached it, there was no sign of bustle, and, but for the galley smoke, no mark of life on the _Norah Creina_. Pinkerton's face grew pale and his mouth straightened as he leaped on board. "Where's the captain of this----?" and he left the phrase unfinished, finding no epithet sufficiently energetic for his thoughts. It did not appear whom or what he was addressing; but a head, presumably the cook's, appeared in answer at the galley door. "In the cabin, at dinner," said the cook deliberately, chewing as he spoke. "Is that cargo out?" "No, sir." "None of it?" "O, there's some of it out. We'll get at the rest of it livelier to-morrow, I guess." "I guess there'll be something broken first," said Pinkerton, and strode to the cabin. Here we found a man, fat, dark, and quiet, seated gravely at what seemed a liberal meal. He looked up upon our entrance; and seeing Pinkerton continue to stand facing him in silence, hat on head, arms folded, and lips compressed, an expression of mingled wonder and annoyance began to dawn upon his placid face. "Well!" said Jim; "and so this is what you call rushing around?" "Who are you?" cries the captain. "Me! I'm Pinkerton!" retorted Jim, as though the name had been a talisman.