The hands went forward, and the skipper and mate descended to the cabin and prepared for sleep. The skipper set a lamp on the table ready for Mr. Hutchins when he should return, and after a short inward struggle bade the mate “good-night,” and in a couple of minutes was fast asleep.
At four o’clock the mate woke suddenly to find the skipper standing by his berth. The lamp still stood burning on the table, fighting feebly against the daylight which was pouring in through the skylight.
“Not turned up yet?” said the mate, with a glance at the visitor’s empty berth.
The skipper shook his head spiritlessly and pointed to the table. The mate following his finger, saw a small canvas bag, and by the side of it fourpence halfpenny in coppers and an unknown amount in brace buttons.
“There was twenty-three pounds freight money in that bag when we left London,” said the skipper, finding his voice at last.
“Well, what do you think’s become of it?” inquired the mate, taking up the lamp and blowing it out.
“I can’t think,” said the skipper, “my’ed’s all confused. Bro—Mr. Hutchins ain’t come back yet.”
“I s’pose he was late and didn’t like to disturb you,” said the mate without moving a muscle, “but I’ve no doubt ’e’s all right. Don’t you worry about him.”
“It’s very strange where it’s gone, George,” faltered the skipper, “very strange.”
“Well, ’Utchins is a generous sort o’ chap,” said the mate, “’e give the men five pounds for nothing, so perhaps he’ll give you something—when ’e comes back.”