were, a semi-official character to whatever was afoot).

"Well, here you are," said Denry, and handed to Cregeen a piece of
paper.

"What's this, I'm asking ye?" said Cregeen, taking the paper in his
large fingers and peering at it as though it had been a papyrus.

But he knew quite well what it was. It was a cheque for twenty-five
pounds. What he did not know was that, with the ten pounds paid in cash
earlier in the day, it represented a very large part indeed of such of
Denry's savings as had survived his engagement to Ruth Earp. Cregeen
took a pen as though it had been a match-end and wrote a receipt. Then,
after finding a stamp in a pocket of his waistcoat under his jersey, he
put it in his mouth and lost it there for a long time. Finally Denry got
the receipt, certifying that he was the owner of the lifeboat formerly
known as _Llandudno_, but momentarily without a name, together with
all her gear and sails.

"Are ye going to live in her?" the rather curt John inquired.

"Not in her. On her," said Denry.

And he went out on to the sand and shingle, leaving John and Cregeen to
complete the sale to Cregeen of the _Fleetwing_, a small cutter
specially designed to take twelve persons forth for "a pleasant sail in
the bay." If Cregeen had not had a fancy for the _Fleetwing_ and a
perfect lack of the money to buy her, Denry might never have been able
to induce him to sell the lifeboat.

Under another portion of the pier Denry met a sailor with a long white
beard, the aged Simeon, who had been one of the crew that rescued the
_Hjalmar_, but whom his colleagues appeared to regard rather as an
ornament than as a motive force.

"It's all right," said Demo.

And Simeon, in silence, nodded his head slowly several times.

"I shall give you thirty shilling for the week," said Denry.

And that venerable head oscillated again in the moon-lit gloom and
rocked gradually to a stand-still.

Presently the head said, in shrill, slow tones:

"I've seen three o' them Norwegian chaps. Two of 'em can no more speak
English than a babe unborn; no, nor understand what ye say to 'em,
though I fair bawled in their ear-holes."

"So much the better," said Denry.

"I showed 'em that sovereign," said the bearded head, wagging again.

"Well," said Denry, "you won't forget. Six o'clock to-morrow morning."

"Ye'd better say five," the head suggested. "Quieter like."

"Five, then," Denry agreed.

And he departed to St Asaph's Road