"I must ask you to accompany me ashore as soon as this vessel is anchored."
"I am at your disposal," answered the Captain.
Steaming into the harbour, the Hawk dropped her anchor, and the Satellite, having received no orders to the contrary, followed suit. While this work was proceeding, a native boat put off from the shore and approached the yacht. In it was a passenger attired in a frock coat, and—a thing as rare in Singapore as snow—a tall silk hat. The boat came alongside, and the boatman, in answer to an inquiry from his passenger, indicated the rope that was still hanging over the taffrail of the Hawk.
"Hullo, what is it?" shouted the Lieutenant from the deck above.
"Can you tell me if Mr. John Brighouse is on board?" inquired the silk-hatted person in dignified tones.
"I will ask, but who are you?"
The stranger took a card-case from his pocket, but, realising the impossibility of handing it up to the officer, put it back again.
"I am Henry Vayne, of Vayne & Paver, solicitors, Chancery Lane, London," he said in the same dignified tone.
"You had better come aboard, sir."
"Thank you, but—er—is there no other means of ascending than by this rope?"