"And I jolly well mean to keep you there!" snarled Mr. Fiandersole. "After all's said and done, you benefit. Play me false and you'll get seven years on that other count. And you can't round on me, Captain Quelch. What passes between us is without witnesses, and my word is as good as yours—better, if it comes to a court of law."
"But my certificate, sir," protested the other.
"Your certificate will be safe, provided you don't bungle. And there's a cool three thousand pounds, although I presume some of that will have to be shared out. That's your affair. I don't want to know anything about that. If you fail you're sacked—understand that. And if you open your mouth, my man, remember what I threatened just now. But it's no use beating about the bush—do it."
"Very good, sir," agreed Captain Quelch.
"That's much better, Captain!" exclaimed Mr. Fiandersole cordially. "In deep water, mind—and no loss of life."
* * * * * * *
Twenty-four hours later Captain Josiah Quelch, having dropped the pilot off the Forelands, was well on his way down Channel.
He was far from being in a happy state of mind. For one thing, the s.s. Getalong was in a thick fog. For another, the old tramp was in a decidedly unseaworthy condition. It was a mystery how the Board of Trade ever passed her on the last survey, or how the underwriters had been persuaded to insure her for sixty thousand pounds. But what weighed most heavily upon the captain's mind was the knowledge that by some means or other the Getalong must not reach port again.
"What's the matter with the Old Man, Bill?" inquired the quartermaster, as for the tenth time in half an hour Captain Quelch walked to the weather-side of the bridge and leant over the rails. "Wot 'e expects to see alongside licks me."
A long-drawn wail from the distant shore was borne faintly to the ears of the men on the bridge.