?... Bit of a problem, eh, Dollops? Frozen
Flames, Country Squires, Dark Strangers who are sailormen, and a butler
who has been years in the family service; there you have the ingredients
for quite a nice little mix-up. Now, I wonder where those two are bound
for?"

"'Pig and Whistle'," conjectured Dollops. "Leastways, tha's where old
Black Whiskers is a-makin' for. Got friend Borkins in tow as well
ternight, so things ought ter be gittin' interestin'. Gawd! sir,
if you don't looka fair cut-throat I an't ever seen one.

"Makes me blood run cold jist ter squint at yer, it does! That there
moustache 'ud git yer a fortin' on the stage, I swear. Mr. Narkom'd faint
if 'e saw yer, an' I'm not so certing I wouldn't do a bunk meself, if
I met yer in a dark lane, so to speak. 'Ow yer does the expression fair
beats me."

Cleek laughed good-humouredly. The something theatrical in his make-up
was gratified by the admiration of his audience. He linked his arm
through the boy's.

"Birthright, Dollops, birthright!" he made answer, speaking in a
leisurely tone. "Every man has one, you know. There is the birthright
of princes--" he sighed. "Your birthright is a willing soul and an
unwavering loyalty. Mine? A mere play of feature that can transform me
from one man into another. A poor thing at best, Dollops, but.... Hello!
Lights ahead! What is it, my pocket guide-book?"

"'Pig and Whistle'," grunted Dollops in a husky voice, glad of an excuse
to hide his pleasure at Cleek's appreciation of his character.

"H'm. That's good. The fun commences. Don't forget your part, boy. We're
sailoring men back from a cruise to Jamaica and pretty near penniless.
Lost our jobs, and looking for others. Told there was a factory somewhere
in this part of the world that had to do with shipping, and have walked
down from London. Took six days, mind; don't forget that. And a devilish
long walk, too, I reckon! But that's by the way. Your name's Sam--Sam
Robinson. Mine--Bill Jones.... Our friends are ahead of us. Come along."

Whistling, they swung up to the brightly lit little public-house, set
there upon the edge of the bay. Here and there over the unruffled surface
of the waters to the left of them, a light pricked out, glowing against
the gloom. Black against the mouth of the harbour, as though etched upon
a smoky background, a steamer swayed uneasily with the swell of the water
at her keel, her nose touching the pier-head, a chain of lights outlinin