"But if you'll say when the real old stingo is on tap, I'll
show you how to use the water."

"Certainly," said Tresco. "Nothing will please me better. Good
afternoon. Sorry you must go so soon. Take great care of yourself. Good
men are scarce."

As the door closed behind the sailor the goldsmith turned to the
fishermen.

"So you were sent to me by Mr. Crookenden?"

"That's so." It was Rock Cod who answered. "He give us the price of a
drink, an' says he, 'There'll be five pound each for you if you do as
Mr. Tresco tells you.' We're a-waitin' orders; ain't that so, Macaroni?"

"Rocka Codda spik alla right--he understanda ze Inglese. I leave-a it to
him."

"You are good men in a boat, I have no doubt. Very good." The goldsmith
pursed his lips, and looked very important. "Mr. Crookenden has
entrusted me with a mission. You row the boat--I carry out the mission.
All you have to do is to bring your boat round to Mr. Crookenden's wharf
at ten o'clock to-night, and the rest is simple. Your money will be paid
you in the morning, in full tale, up to the handle, without fail. You
understand? Five pounds a piece for a few hours' hire of your boat and
services."

"We catch your drift all right," said Rock Cod.

"But, remember"--the goldsmith looked very serious--"mum's the word."

"I have ze mum," said Macaroni. "I spik only to Rocka Codda, he spik
only to me--zat alla right?"

"Quite so, but be punctual. We shall go out at ten o'clock, wet or fine.
Till then, adieu."

"Ze same to you," said the Italian. "You ze fine fella."

"Take this, and drink success to my mission." Tresco handed them a
silver coin.

"That part of the business is easy," remarked Rock Cod. "But as to the
job you've got in hand, well, the nature o' that gets over _me_."

"All you're asked to do is to row," said Tresco. "As to the rest, that
lies with me and my resourcefulness. Now git."

Benjamin opened the door, and pushed the fishermen out.

"Remember," he said, as they departed, "if I hear a word about the
matter in the bar of any hotel, our bargain is off and not a cent will
you get for your pains."

"Look 'ere, cap'n." Rock Cod turned suddenly round. "We passed you our
word: ain't that good enough?"

"My trusty friend, it is. So-long. Go, and drink my health."

Without another word the fishermen went, and the goldsmith returned to
put the finishing touches to his fraudulent work.

CHAPTER XIII.

What the Bush Robin Saw.