fallen overboard in the heavy weather that we were having. Only one
man knew what had happened to him, and that was me, for, with my own
eyes, I saw the skipper tip up his heels and put him over the rail
in the middle watch of a dark night, two days before we sighted the
Shetland Lights. Well, I kept my knowledge to myself, and waited to see
what would come of it. When we got back to Scotland it was easily hushed
up, and nobody asked any questions. A stranger died by accident and it
was nobody's business to inquire. Shortly after Peter Carey gave up the
sea, and it was long years before I could find where he was. I guessed
that he had done the deed for the sake of what was in that tin box, and
that he could afford now to pay me well for keeping my mouth shut. I
found out where he was through a sailor man that had met him in London,
and down I went to squeeze him. The first night he was reasonable
enough, and was ready to give me what would make me free of the sea for
life. We were to fix it all two nights later. When I came, I found him
three parts drunk and in a vile temper. We sat down and we drank and we
yarned about old times, but the more he drank the less I liked the look
on his face. I spotted that harpoon upon the wall, and I thought I might
need it before I was through. Then at last he broke out at me, spitting
and cursing, with murder in his eyes and a great clasp-knife in his
hand. He had not time to get it from the sheath before I had the harpoon
through him. Heavens! what a yell he gave! and his face gets between me
and my sleep. I stood there, with his blood splashing round me, and I
waited for a bit, but all was quiet, so I took heart once more. I looked
round, and there was the tin box on the shelf. I had as much right to
it as Peter Carey, anyhow, so I took it with me and left the hut. Like a
fool I left my baccy-pouch upon the table.

"Now I'll tell you the queerest part of the whole story. I had hardly
got outside the hut when I heard someone coming, and I hid among the
bushes. A man came slinking along, went into the hut, gave a cry as if
he had seen a ghost, and legged it as hard as he could run until he was
out of sight. Who he was or what he wanted is more than I can tell.
For my part I walked ten miles, got a train at Tunbridge Wells, and so
reached London, and no one the wiser.

"Well, when I came to examine the box I found there was no money in it,
and nothing but papers that I would not dare t