ing for her," said the fond mother. "I'm sure it's
quite touching the way he looks after her."

"Going to be married soon?" queried the skipper.

He knew it was a rude question for a comparative stranger to ask, but he
couldn't help it.

"When my husband is found," said the old lady, shaking her head sadly.
"She won't marry till then."

The skipper sat back in his chair, and pushing his plate from him,
pondered over this latest piece of information. It seemed at first
an excellent reason for not finding Captain Gething, but the idea had
hardly occurred to him before he dismissed it as unworthy, and manfully
resolved to do his best. For an hour he sat listening to the somewhat
prosy talk of the old lady, and then--there being no sign of Annis's
return--he silently departed and made his way back to the _Seamew_.

CHAPTER VI.

To the cook's relief he found that the _Seamew's_ next voyage was to a
little port on the West Coast named Cocklemouth, calling at the garrison
town of Bymouth on the way. He told Sam that it was a load off his mind,
and showed clearly by his manner that he expected the syndicate at least
to accept his story. They spent most of their time in the galley, where,
secure from money-grubbing eavesdroppers, they matured their plans over
the washing of potatoes and the scouring of saucepans. "On the Trail"
was remarkably clever, and they obtained many helpful suggestions from
it, though the discovery that Henry had got hold of it, and had marked
all the most valuable passages in lead pencil, caused them much anxiety.

The syndicate were the first to get ashore the evening they arrived at
Bymouth. They had come to the conclusion in their deliberations that the
only possible place in which a retired mariner would spend his evenings
was a public-house, and they resolved to do them thoroughly.

"The worst of it," said Sam, as they walked slowly together to the town,
"is the drinkin'. Arter I've 'ad five or six pints, everybody looks to
me like Cap'n Gething."

"We won't 'ave no drinkin'," said the cook. "We'll do wot the feller did
in that story. 'Ave you got sixpence about you?"

"Wot for?" inquired Sam carefully.

"Workin' expenses," replied the cook, dwelling fondly on the phrase.

"That'll be thruppence each, then," said Sam, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Sixpence each," said the cook. "Now do you know what we're goin' to
do?"

"Chuck money away," hazarded Sam as he reluctantly drew a six