"Yes, but not before twelve o'clock," was Monk's reply.
"Why not?"
"Isn't it a fact that you love a bit of excitement?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then you had better not ask any further questions, and you will probably have plenty of it."
At last it was twelve o'clock, and a one-eyed, weather-beaten boatman rowed us out to the yacht. Abaft the mast stood a tall, handsome man, with a heavy black mustache.
Monk was the first to go on board. He went right up to the owner of the yacht—for it was he. I followed behind.
Mr. Howell—-we must still call him so—did not appear particularly pleased at the visit. He stepped back involuntarily, and his face became dark, but only for a moment; then he smiled and exclaimed in good Norwegian:—
"What a surprise! Have I at last the pleasure of seeing you, after so many years, Mr. Monk?"
"Yes, the world contains many surprises, Mr. Howell," was Monk's dry reply, while he did not appear to notice the hand which the Englishman stretched out to him. "Allow me to present an engineer friend, Mr. Frederick Viller, Mr. Howell."