d
asked to be shown into a private room. He was dressed in
odds-and-ends of garments, including a soiled regimental coat and
dirty linen trousers."

"The French prisoner!" said I.

"That's the man. He told Bogue, fair and straight, he was an
ex-prisoner, and off the _Wellinboro'_ transport, arrived that day
in harbour. He had money in his pocket--in Bogue's presence he
pulled out a fistful of gold--and he pitched a tale that he was bound
for his home, a little this side of Saltash, but couldn't face the
road in the clothes he wore. You'll admit that this was reasonable
when you've seen 'em, for I brought the suit along in the tail of the
tilbury. For a pound, Bogue fitted him up with an old suit of his
own--coat and waistcoat of blue sea-cloth, not much the worse for
wear, duck trousers, a tarpaulin hat, and a flannel shirt marked
J. B. (Bogue's Christian name is Jeremiah). The fellow had no shirt
when he presented himself--nothing between the bare buff and the
uniform coat that he wore buttoned across his chest. And here our
luck comes in. He was shy of stripping in Bogue's presence, and, on
pretence of feeling chilly, sent him out of the room for a glass of
hot grog. As it happened, Bogue met the waiting-maid in the passage,
coming out of the bar with a tray and half a dozen hot grogs that had
been ordered by customers in the tap-room. He picked up one, and,
sending the maid back to fetch another to fill up her order, returned
at once to the private room. My gentleman there was standing with
his back to the door, stripped to the waist, with the shirt in his
hand, ready to slip it on. He wasn't expecting Bogue so soon, and he
turned about with a jump, but not before Bogue had sight of his back
and a great picture tattooed across it--Adam and Eve, with the tree
between 'em, and the serpent coiled around it complete."

"The man Bogue must have quick sight," commented Miss Belcher.

"So I told him, but his answer was that it didn't need more than a
glance, because this picture is a favourite with seamen. Bogue has
been a seaman himself."

"That is so," Captain Branscome corroborated. "The man must have
been a seaman, and at one time or another in the Navy. There's a
superstition about that particular picture: tattooed across the back
and loins it's supposed to protect them, in a moderate degree,
against flogging."

"Well," said Miss Belcher, "his belonging to the Navy seems likely
enough. It acc