“I think Annie is a wonderful girl. She seems to think of everything,” was Hilton’s reply, given in a tone of great disappointment. “But her excellent advice comes too late. Our bird has flown, and it will be almost impossible to discover him to-morrow, since he is sure to keep dark, and we do not even know the name of the ship to which he has been taken.” “Yes, men generally have an idea that women are of no use,” Miss Cory said, and her voice had such a triumphant inflection in it that her hearers at once found themselves heartened again. “But in this case they may thank their stars that they have got women to help them.” “We shall only be too glad to thank our stars--the women themselves,” quoth Hilton. Whereupon Miss Cory rejoined: “Very prettily said, Mr. Riddell, but you don’t know yet what you have to thank me for. I know where young Stavanger is to be found this minute.” “Really?” “Yes, really and truly.” “But how in the world have you managed it?” “Well, you see, when Annie’s letter arrived, you had already left home, and for a while I was more than a little puzzled as to what was best to be done. But there was no time to spare, and I soon had to come to a decision. Had I come to fetch either of you to go to Millwall, we should have been too late, and had I thought of intercepting either of the Stavangers on the way, my efforts would have been futile. There was but one course open to me, and I adopted it without delay. You and I, John, are about the same size. It being already nightfall, and it being, moreover, very essential that I should not be noticed much myself, I took a liberty with your wardrobe that you must excuse. I haven’t seen much of dock life, as you know, but I have an idea, which has proved to be correct, that women, at least respectable women, don’t hang about the dock gates at night unless they are on the look out for some particular ship. I am not one to stick at trifles, but I did not want to be mistaken for somebody who wasn’t respectable, and I did want to be as unnoticed as possible. So I just got dressed in one of your suits, put my hair out of the way--there isn’t much of it--donned a long top-coat and took an old hat, and set off for Millwall. I took the Underground, and changed at Mark Lane. At Fenchurch Street I just caught a train starting for the docks. If I had had to wait there I should have had a fruitless errand, for I lost a little time at the other end hunting about the dock gates, and I was afraid to attract attention to myself by asking my way. Perhaps you think that I ought to have known it, as I was down there with you last summer to look over one of the ships in which you are a shareholder. But things look very different in the bright sunshine, when you have a lot of friends with you, all bent upon pleasure, from what they do at night, when you are alone and nervous, and fearful alike of being seen yourself or of failing to see those of whom you are in search.