This was on a Wednesday. Since the sale of Old Silas's cottage was fixed for the following Monday, there was little time to be lost. The matter of recovering the booty could, of course, be managed by the use of a search-warrant, but for certain reasons the Commander-in-Chief decided to deal with it without invoking the aid of the law. Once the booty were taken possession of, then the Admiralty Courts could take up the case and restore the plunder to its lawful owners—the Norddeutscher-Lloyd Company.
The complicated machinery of Whitehall was set in motion at high pressure, with the result that early on Friday morning the Commander-in-Chief at Devonport was given authority to purchase the cottage without a limit being placed upon the amount to be paid.
Two hours later the admiral sent for a retired boatswain named Primmer, an honest, reliable and discreet old man, who had previously served three commissions under the Commander-in-Chief before the latter attained Flag rank.
"Primmer," began the Admiral brusquely, "I want you to buy a house."
The ex-bo'sun looked considerably surprised.
"Very good, sir," he replied. "But I beg leave to state, sir, I've already a little house at Mutley."
"Buy a house at Mousehole, near Penzance, and live in it," continued the Commander-in-Chief. "But only for a month—perhaps less than that. You'll have all expenses paid and fifty pounds in addition. Change of air will do you a world of good, Primmer. Take the missus and a vanload of furniture and you'll have quite an interesting holiday."
"Very good, sir," said the pensioner again.
Then the admiral explained matters and introduced Rollo Vyse as a supposed paying-guest.
"You two can work together splendidly," declared the admiral. "If you require additional assistance, wire at once."