t was stowing wool aboard. I heard you
was coming ashore for the captain, and as you won't see him for the next
couple of hours, I thought I'd come down and ask you to come up and have
a couple of nips. It's cold loafing about here. I live pretty close."

"You're one o' the right sort. What say, Peter?" Peter was only too
glad. The prospect of getting into a warm house was enough inducement,
even without the further bliss of a couple of nips.

In half an hour the two men were helplessly drunk in Harry's room, and
their generous host carefully placing another bottle (not doctored this
time) of rum on the table for them when they awoke, quietly went out
and locked the door behind him. Then he walked quickly back to where
the _Belted Will_ boat lay, and descending the steps, got into her and
seemed to busy himself for a while. He soon found what he was looking
for, and then came the sound of inrushing water. Then he drew the boat
up again to the steps, got out, and casting off the painter, slung it
aboard, and shoved her into the darkness.

For another hour he waited patiently, and then came the rattle of
wheels, and loud voices and laughter, as a vehicle drew up at the
deserted wharf.

"Why not stay ashore to-night, captain," said one of the guest's
champagne-laden companions, "and tell your man to go back?"

"No, no," laughed Cressingham. "I don't like the look of the weather,
and must get aboard right away. Boat ahoy! Where are you, men?"

"Your boat isn't here, sir," said a gruff voice, and a tall man advanced
from the darkness of the sheds. "I saw the men up town, both pretty
full, and heard them laughing and say they meant to have a night ashore.
It's my belief they turned her adrift purposely."

Cressingham cursed them savagely, and then turned to the tall man.

"Can you get me a boat?"

"Well, sir, there's a big heavy boat belonging to my boss that I can
get, and I don't mind putting you aboard. We can sail out with this
breeze in no time. She's lying under the coal-wharf."

"That'll do. Good-bye, gentlemen. I trust we shall all meet again in
another eight months or so."

The big man led the way, and in a few minutes they reached the coal
wharf, under which the boat was moored. She was a heavy, clumsily-built
craft, and Cressingham, on getting aboard and striking a match, cursed
her filthy state. The tall man stepped to the mast and hoisted the
lug-sail, and Cressingham, taking the tiller, kept her out