reason we have to discover, Jacox," he said vaguely. "The dead man
is a pilot," he added; "and in Maldon are many German spies."

"But I don't see that the fact of Pavely pursuing the honourable calling
of pilot would arouse the enmity of any secret agent," I remarked.

"We shall see," was my friend's response; and he became immersed in his
paper.

On reaching the prosperous little town of Maldon we left our bags in the
cloak-room. The snow was lying thickly, but it was no longer falling. A
sharp frost had set in, rendering the roads very slippery. In the
darkness infrequent lights glimmered here and there in the quaint old
streets and among the barges and coasting vessels which lay along the
Hithe. The tide was nearly full, and the river covered with
half-congealed snow and ice. Few passengers were abroad that wintry
evening, but as we passed a small low-built public-house called the
"Goat and Binnacle," at the waterside, we could hear that there were
many customers within, all of whom seemed to be talking at once.

The red-curtained windows reflected a ruddy chequer upon the trampled
snow, and men were coming up by twos and threes from the river craft,
one and all wending their way to that low-browed house which seemed to
be doing such a roaring trade.

"Let's take a look inside," Ray suggested in a whisper. "We might hear
something."

So together we turned back, and entered the low-built, old-fashioned
place.

Within, we found them all discussing the mysterious death of Jim Pavely.

Mostly English were the bronzed, weather-beaten men of the sea and the
longshoremen who were smoking and drinking, and talking so earnestly,
but a few foreigners were among them. There were two or three Frenchmen,
dapper fellows in well-made pea-jackets and berets, who had rowed ashore
from the big white yawl flying the tricolour, which had been lying off
Heybridge waiting, so we heard, for a change from the present icy
weather before going to sea again; and there were also a fair number of
Swedes and Norwegians from the two timber-ships whose spars, we had
noticed, towered above the rows of smaller and stumpier masts belonging
to the local and coasting craft which lay alongside the Hithe. Then
there was the first mate of one of the timber-ships, supposed by most of
those present to be a German. At any rate, he seemed to be trying hard
to carry on a conversation with the fair-haired landlord, an undoubted
immigrant from the Fathe