in
secret. Other correspondents from London were also in the room. I saw
them vaguely when Hopkins indicated their positions with a few graceful
flourishes of his hand. They were lost in Hopkins's assurance of
occupying superiority. They were looking on. "We all got here
yesterday," explained Hopkins. "It's a fine story, not without its
funny touches. And it has come jolly handy in a dull season when
people want cheering up. We have found the Ancient Mariner. He was
off voyaging again but his ship's magic was washed out by heavy
weather. And while beer is more plentiful than news, we hope to keep
London going with some wonders of the deep."

In the morning, before the correspondents had begun on the next
instalment of their serial story, I saw Pascoe sitting up in a bed at
another inn, his expenses an investment of the newspaper men. He was
unsubdued. He was even exalted. He did not think it strange to see me
there, though it was not difficult to guess that he had his doubts
about the quality of the publicity he had attracted, and of the motive
for the ardent attentions of his new and strange acquaintances from
London. "Don't be hard on me," he begged, "for not telling you more in
London. But you're so cautious and distrustful. I was going to tell
you, but was uncertain what you'd say. Now I've started and you can't
stop me. I've met a man here named Hopkins, who has given me some help
and advice. As soon as my craft is repaired, I'm off again. It was
unlucky to meet that sou'wester in July. But once out of home waters,
I ought to be able to pick up the Portuguese trade wind off Finisterre,
and then I'm good for the Caribbees. I'll do it. She should take no
more than a fortnight to put right."

There was no need to argue with him. The _Heart's Desire_, a centre of
attraction in the place, answered any doubt I had as to Pascoe's
safety. But he was humoured. Hopkins humoured him, even openly
encouraged him. The Heart's Desire was destined for a great adventure.
The world was kept in anticipation of the second departure for this
strange voyage to Guatemala. The _Heart's Desire_ on the edge of a
ship-repairer's yard, was tinkered, patched, refitted, made as right as
she could be. The ship-repairer, the money for the work made certain
for him, did what he was told, but made no comment, except to
interrogate me curiously when I was about.

A spring tide, with a southerly wind, brought us to a