Without a word, the grim Northumbrian mate of the Pickfast caught the heaved bowline and took a turn. As the Alerte's boat swung alongside, a rope ladder was lowered to the accompaniment of an invitation to come aboard.
The Pickfast's Old Man had descended from the bridge and was awaiting his visitors. He was a short, thick-set Tynesider, with huge shoulders and bowed legs, a shrewd face and a taciturn manner.
"Eh, lad!" he exclaimed, addressing Pengelly. "What dost want?"
"A passage to Jamaica for this man," replied Pengelly, feeling that it would be a waste of time to beat about the bush. "We'll pay you fifty pounds in cash."
The Old Man threw a quick comprehensive glance over the little Admiralty inspector. He noted also that the would-be passenger was without luggage.
"I'll ha' nowt to do wi' him," he declared bluntly. "I've no call for passengers myseen. Police after him?"
"No, no," Pengelly hastened to reassure him. "All aboveboard, Captain. He came aboard us in a hurry, I'll admit. We were bound for New Orleans, but had our orders countermanded at Falmouth. Jones is his name; ordered a long sea voyage for the benefit of his health. Come on, Captain. Fifty pounds easily earned."
"Coals an' bananas; them's my freight," remarked the skipper of the Pickfast. "Passengers aren't in my line. Still, it's easy money if he'll take things as he finds 'em. All right, Mr. Jones, I'll take you."
And with the air of a man who has conferred a great personal favour, the captain pocketed the notes and waddled in the direction of the bridge. With equal alacrity Mr. Pengelly clambered over the side and dropped into the waiting boat. The painter was cast off and the collier's propeller began to churn the water.
Mr. Jasper Chamfer had started on his involuntary voyage to Jamaica.