ot-holes in her side,
to the sawed-off stump of the fore-top-mast; and then he remarked the
absence of the boat which was carried amidships, and the few men moving
about her deck. Ay! he took it all in with that one comprehensive
glance, and when he had done, he raised his fore finger quivering
with anger, and slowly and unconsciously passed it with an ominous
gesture across his throat.

Soon was heard a sullen plunge as an anchor was let go, and the
splashing of the warps upon the water as the stern of the "Centipede"
was being moored to the rocks, to make room for her companion the
felucca, now shortly expected.

"Mr. Gibbs is coming on shore, _senor_, and he seems to have a wooden
leg," came through the tube. "The doctor is coming with him, and there
is a little boy in the boat."

"Ho!" muttered the man in the saloon, "where was that brat picked up?"

Nothing more was said. The tall man lit a cigar, threw himself into an
easy attitude on the settee, opened a richly-bound volume, and waited.
Ten minutes may have gone by when the trampling of feet was heard on the
smooth rocks outside the building, and the voice of Mr. Gibbs
exclaimed,

"Easy, will ye? Doctor! Don't ye see it tears the narves out of me to
hobble with this broomstick-handle of a leg! There! Stop a bit! How in
thunder am I to climb this ladder? Oh!" Here a low howl of pain.
"Another shove. Easy, old Sawbones! So--give us another push, will ye?
All right! There, that'll do."

The next minute Mr. Bill Gibbs stood on the broad piazza, and, with the
assistance of a crutch, he hobbled to the entrance of the apartment, and
only pausing to recover his wind and compose his features, he pulled off
his straw hat and entered.

"So ho! Mr. Gibbs," said the man on the settee, as the burly, lame
ruffian darkened the entrance, laying the book down as he spoke, and
waving his delicate handkerchief before him.

"So ho! Mr. Gibbs, you've come back at last! Delighted to see you. I am,
'pon my soul. Ah! one of those stout pins gone? Why, how's this? Some
little accident? Santa Cruz rum and a tumble down the hatchway, perhaps,
eh? D'ye smoke? Take a cheroot. Put that bag on the table."

All this was said in a gay, gibing tone, with an indifference and _sang
froid_ that a tight-rope dancer might have been proud of; and as he
ended, he threw a handful of cigars across the table, and pushed the pan
of coals toward his visitor. Before, however, Gibbs had time to utter