"That's all right, then. What do you think of her?"
We were standing on the harbour wall, looking down on the schooner on which the riggers were busy renewing her standing gear.
"A good staunch boat, I should say. What can you get out of her?"
"Ten easy with these new spars, and she can come up as close as any boat I've ever seen—except maybe yon black snake of Torode's,"—with a jerk of the head towards Herm. "Seen her?"
"Yes, I've seen her. How's she in bad weather?"
"Wet, I should say. We can stand a heap more than she can."
"When do you expect to get off?"
"Inside a week. Come along and have a drink. It's dry work watching these fellows."
So we went along to the café just behind us, and it was while we were sitting there, sipping our cider, and I was telling him of my last voyage and after-journeyings, that a man came in and slapped down on the table in front of us a printed bill which, as it turned out afterwards, concerned us both more nearly than we knew.
"Ah!" said John Ozanne, "I'd heard of that. If we happen across him we'll pick up that five thousand pounds or we'll know the reason why."