"Titania, ahoy!"
"For goodness sake why didn't you say so before?" exclaimed Villiers to himself. "Where's Tommy? Why didn't he bark, I wonder?"
Getting into his pilot-coat, for the night air blew coldly down the river and contrasted forcibly with the warm cabin, Villiers went on deck.
"Ahoy, there!" he exclaimed.
On the edge of the wharf stood a man with his back to the feeble gleam of a gas-lamp.
"Telegram for Harborough, yacht Titania," he announced. "Prepaid wire."
"Come aboard," said Jack.
"Sorry, sir," was the reply. "I'm a stranger to this sort of game. No hand at ladders, I'm not."
Considering the awkward means of gaining the Titania's deck, the man's objection was reasonable enough, so Villiers descended the wire-rope ladder, crossed the raft, and ascended the vertical steps. The tide had almost finished on the flood, and there were only a few rungs to scale.
"Prepaid, eh?" remarked Villiers. "All right. I have a pencil. Let's go under the gas-lamp."