Dare jumped to his feet.
"Look here, sir," he said, "I swear if you'll only let me go that I'll take my orders from Ben like I would from you. I won't do a thing that he forbids me to do. Word of honour, sir."
"Well, you seem very keen, Dare, and I'm sure you mean what you say, but even so I can't promise."
"But it's not dangerous work, sir!"
"Not if the men sent know their business. I can trust Ben to be in character—he's never anything else. No one would ever suspect him of being an amateur detective. But if you went with him, you with your soft hands, your educated speech, how would you explain your relation to him? Ben has to pretend he's a fisherman. But that will make your presence seem an incongruity, for you don't look like a fisherman and I don't think you ever will."
"Beggin' your pardon, cap'n, but I think that's easier nor what you make out," said Ben, who was obviously on Dare's side.
"He could go as my nevvy, the only child of my niece who married a clerk in St. John's, who give the boy a good eddication afore he died, and who, leavin' him without a penny, his mother bein' already dead, he was forced to come to me to earn his living, he bein' without friends or pull of any kind, and me bein' glad to have him."
The captain's face twisted amusedly at the construction and the content of Ben's unusually long speech.
"I didn't know you had so much imagination, Ben. It's sound enough, of course, what you say, and as I've said already, there's very little danger in the job if you go about it rightly, as I've no doubt you will."
"Then you'll let me go, father?" demanded Dare eagerly.