ere bending over him to persuade him--at first, with small
success, for he continued to stare and mutter as our voices coaxed
without penetrating his muddled intelligence--when a party of
'longshoremen staggered into the taproom, escorting one of the
returned prisoners, a thin, sandy-haired, foxy-looking man, with
narrow eyes and a neck remarkable for its attenuation and the number
and depth of its wrinkles. This neck showed above the greasy collar
of a red infantry coat, from which the badges and buttons had long
since vanished; and for the rest the fellow wore a pair of dirty
white drill trousers of French cut, French shoes, and a round
japanned hat; but, so far as a glance could discover, neither shirt
nor underclothing. When the 'longshoremen called for drink he
laughed with a kind of happy shiver, as though rubbing his body round
the inside of his clothes, cast a quick glance at us in our dim
corner, and declared for rum, adding that the Mayor of Falmouth was a
well-meaning old swab, but his liquor wouldn't warm the vitals of a
baby in clouts.

As he announced this I fancied that our persuasions began to have
effect on Captain Coffin, for his eyes blinked as in a strong light,
and he seemed to pull himself together with a shudder; but a moment
later he relapsed again and sat staring.

"Hallo!" said one of the 'longshoremen. "Who's that you're a-coaxin'
of, you two? Old Coffin, eh? Well, take the old shammick home, an'
thank 'ee. We're tired of 'en here."

As I looked up to answer I saw the returned prisoner give a start,
turn slowly about, and peer at us. He seemed to be badly scared,
too, for an instant; for I heard a sudden, sharp click in his
throat--

"E-e-eh? Coffin, is it? Danny Coffin? Oh, good Lord!"

He came towards our corner, still peering, and, as he peered,
crouching to that he spread his palms on his knees.

"Coffin? Danny Coffin?" he repeated, in a voice that, as it lost its
wondering quaver, grew tense and wicked and wheedling.

Captain Coffin's face twitched, and it seemed to me that his eyes,
though rigid, expanded a little. But they stared into the stranger's
face without seeing him.

The fellow crouched a bit lower, and still lower, as he drew close
and thrust his face gradually within a yard of the old man's.

"Shipmate Danny--messmate Danny--tip us a stave! The old stave,
Danny!--

"'And alongst the Keys o' Mortallone!'"

As his voice lifted to it in a hoarse m