"Mr. Stretton," said he.
The sailor swung round quickly. There was a look of annoyance upon his face.
"You are surely making a mistake," said he, abruptly. "We are not acquainted," and he turned back to the fish-boxes.
"I'm not making a mistake," replied Warrisden. "I have come out to the North Sea in order to find you."
Stretton ceased from his work and stood up. He led the way to the stern of the cutter, where the two men were out of earshot.
"Now," he said. He stood in front of Warrisden, in his sea-boots and his oilskins, firmly planted, yet swaying to the motion of the ship. There was not merely annoyance in his face, but he had the stubborn and resolute look of a man not lightly to be persuaded. Standing there on the cutter's deck, backed by the swinging seas, there was even an air of mastery about him which Warrisden had not expected. His attitude seemed, somehow, not quite consistent with his record of failure.
"Now," said Stretton, "we must be quick. The sea is getting worse each minute, and I have to get back to the Perseverance. You are----?"
"Alan Warrisden, a stranger to you."
"Yes," Stretton interrupted; "how did you find me out?"
"Chase told me."