Meanwhile, Jeremiah, chafing with anger at his wife, and at women in general, went on his beat, which for the day happened to be on the beach road. He noticed a new vessel anchored in the harbour--a graceful schooner of some 600 tons. She was a rakish-looking craft, smart and workmanlike in appearance; and Slade, giving way to his curiosity for the moment, strolled down to the jetty on the chance of hearing something about her. But before he got that far, a boat with two or three men in her put off from the schooner. She reached the pier about the same time as the policeman. To his surprise, he saw that one of the men in the boat was Finland. The young mate sprang lightly up the steps, followed more soberly by a small, sallow-faced man. "Hullo, messmate!" said Jack, greeting Slade, whom he knew; "here I am again, and yonder is my new ship--the _Dayspring_, ain't she a clipper?" "Pretty enough," said Slade, who was grudging of his praise; "but a bit too slight in the build for my taste." "Stuff! What does a lubber like you know of a craft? Why, she's going round the Horn anyhow, on her way to the South Seas. I just dropped in here to say good-bye to my uncle. I'm first mate this trip, and here's my skipper, Captain Shackel." Slade eyed the small yellow-looking man thoughtfully. He had some skill in reading a face, and he concluded that the skipper was about the last man he would care to trust. In truth, Jacob Shackel was not prepossessing. He had a mean, rat-like little face, as brown and wrinkled as a walnut-shell, and hardly larger. His body was shrivelled up in a suit of blue serge, apparently several sizes too large for him. His voice was screechy and effeminate. He extended a claw in greeting to Slade. "Yes, I'm Captain Jacob, I am," said he, winking his one eye, for he was possessed of only a single optic, and that red as any ferret's. "Well known on the high seas I am. Finland's friends is mine." "Includin' 'is sweet'art, I suppose," said Jeremiah. "What the devil d'ye mean?" asked Jack, with a frown. "Only that if that's so, your skipper will be as sorry to hear the news as you will." "News? What? About Tera? Has she not been found?" "Oh yes, she's been found right enough--found dead." Jack started. "Dead? Tera dead?" "Dead as a door nail. In your uncle's field we found her--strangled. Her funeral was this morning." "Hold up, mate," said Shackel, not unkindly, as Jack staggered; "you'll fall in." "Tera dead?" gasped Finland, in horror. "Who killed her?" "That's just what we're after findin' out." "Was it Johnson?" Slade looked suspiciously at the sailor from under his red eyebrows. "I can't answer no questions," said he. "By gum, it was Johnson!" shouted Jack; "I see it in your face. The hound, I'll see him! I'll----" Without waiting to finish his sentence he ran up the pier like a greyhound.