Followed by Widdy, the wealthy lad groped his way along a rather dark passage. He expected every minute to be greeted by Mr. Blake, or to hear the lawyer's voice bidding him welcome. Dick was a little surprised that the attorney had not been out on deck, for the atmosphere below was anything but refreshing, indicating that the _Princess_ was none too well ventilated. "This way, if you please," spoke a voice, and Dick had a glimpse of a big man, attired in a sailor's suit, holding open a cabin door for him. The lad, suspecting nothing, was about to enter, but at that moment there came from Widdy, the old salt who was directly behind him, a snarl not unlike that of the bulldog Grit, at a sight of Uncle Ezra Larabee. "Oh, ho! It's you, my fine swab, is it?" cried Widdy, pushing his way past Dick, and confronting the big sailor. "It's you, is it, an' up to some of your knavish tricks, I'll be bound! Let me get hold of you, Jake Shrouder, and I'll pay back some of the scores I owe you! Split my lee scuppers! I didn't think to find you here! I made sure you was in jail, if Davy Jones hadn't claimed you! Look out, Mr. Dick!" And with that Widdy, stumping forward on his wooden leg, made a dive for the husky sailor, like a man making a tackle on the football field. As for Shrouder, if that was his name, he seemed to turn pale under his bronzed skin. "Widdy! You here!" he gasped, and leaped back, as if to shut himself in the cabin he had invited Dick to enter. "Yes, I'm here! What thieving trick are you up to now? Is it to scuttle the ship, or shanghai somebody? Wait until I get hold of you, with a belayin' pin in the other hand, an'----" But Shrouder gave Widdy no chance to reach him. With a muttered imprecation, he slammed the door shut in the face of the old sailor. Nothing daunted, Widdy threw himself against it, using his artificial leg as a battering ram. There was a splintering of wood, and, as the broken door flew back, Dick saw the large man running through the cabin toward another portal, which he frantically unlocked. "What's the matter? What's up?" demanded the young millionaire, anxiously. "What's wrong, Widdy?" "Everything, Mr. Dick. Look out for yourself. There's bad business afoot here, or Jake Shrouder would never be on hand. But I'll get him!" He stumped forward, swinging his powerful arms to and fro, as if eager to clasp his enemy in them, but he stumbled, and would have fallen inside the cabin with the broken door, had not Dick caught him. At the same time the fleeing man called out: "The jig's up! Widdy's here!" "Who's Widdy?" asked a man's voice, and it was followed by confused shouts. "Never mind. The jig's up, I tell you! Better get ashore. Cast off the boat!" yelled the big sailor. There was the tramp of rapid footsteps on deck. Then came a sound as of something being dragged along--a scraping of wood on wood. "Quick!" cried the old sailor to Dick. "They're trying to shut the hatches on us. We must get on deck!"