magnificent craft.

Hornby took the head of the table, and we sat on either side of him,
chatting merrily while we ate one of the choicest and best cooked
dinners it has ever been my lot to taste. Chater and I drank wine of a
brand which only a millionaire could keep in his cellar, while our host,
apparently a most abstemious man, took only a glass of iced Cinciano
water.

The two smart stewards served in a manner which showed them to be well
trained to their duties, and as the evening light filtering through the
pale blue silk curtains over the open port-holes slowly faded, we
gossiped on as men will gossip over an unusually good dinner.

From his remarks I discerned that, contrary to my first impression,
Hylton Chater was an experienced yachtsman. He owned a craft called the
_Alicia_, and was a member of the Cork Yacht Club. He lived in London,
he told me, but gave me no information as to his profession. It might be
the law, as I had surmised.

"You've seen our ass of a captain, Mr. Gregg?" he remarked presently.
"What do you think of him?"

"Well," I said rather hesitatingly, "to tell the truth, I don't think
very much of his seamanship--nor will the Board of Trade when his report
reaches them."

"Ah!" exclaimed Hornby, "I was a fool to engage him. From the very first
I mistrusted him, only my wife somehow took a fancy to the fellow, and,
as you know, if you want peace you must always please the women. In this
case, however, her choice almost cost me the vessel, and perhaps our
lives into the bargain."

"You knew nothing of him previously?"

"Nothing."

"And he engaged the crew?" I asked.

"Of course."

"Are they all fresh hands?"

"All except the cook and the two stewards."

I was silent. I did not like Mackintosh. Indeed, I entertained a
distinct suspicion of both master and crew.

"The captain seems to have had a nasty cut across the cheek," I
remarked, whereupon my two companions again exchanged quick,
apprehensive glances.

"He fell down the other day," explained Chater, with a rather sickly
smile, I thought. "His face caught the edge of an iron stair in the
engine-room, and caused a nasty gash."

I smiled within myself, for I knew too well that the ugly wound in the
captain's face had never been inflicted by falling on the edge of a
stair. But I remained silent, being content that they should endeavor
to mislead me.

After dessert had been served we rose, and in the summer twilight, when