he rat-eyed little Tommy Bull. Ashore went the
fish--ashore by the barrow-load--and into a convenient little gully
where the tarpaulins would keep it snug against the weather. Fortune
favoured the plan: fog hid the island from the sight of all men. But
the faces of the crew grew longer as the work advanced; and the voice
of the rat-eyed little clerk fell lower, and his manner turned still
more furtive, and his hand began to shake.

In the cabin the skipper sat, with an inspiring dram, engaged in
melancholy and apprehensive brooding. Armstrong & Company had not
served him ill, after all (thought he); but, pshaw! the _Black Eagle_
was insured to the hilt and would be small loss to the firm. Well,
well! she was a tight little schooner and had many a time taken the
evil fall weather with a stout heart. 'Twas a pity to scuttle her.
Scuttle her? The skipper had much rather scuttle Tom Tulk! But pshaw!
after all 'twould but make more work for Newfoundland ship-builders.
Would it never be known? Would the murder never out? Could Tommy Bull
and the crew be trusted? The skipper had already begun to fear Tommy
Bull and the crew. He had caught himself deferring to the cook.

To the cook!

"Pah!" thought the skipper, as he tipped his bottle, "George Rumm
knucklin' down to a cook! A pretty pass t' come to!"

Tommy Bull came down the ladder. "Skipper, sir," said he, "you'd best
be on deck."

Skipper George went above with the clerk.

"She's gettin' light," said Tommy Bull.

At that moment the skipper started. With a hoarse ejaculation leaping
from his throat he stared with bulging eyes towards the hills upon
which a shaft of sunlight had fallen. Then he gripped Tommy Bull by
the arm.

"Who's that?" he whispered.

"What?" the terrified clerk exclaimed. "Who's what, man? Where--where?
What you talkin' about?"

The skipper pointed to the patch of sunlight on the hills. "That!" he
gasped.

"'Tis a man!" said the clerk.

"We're cotched!" the skipper groaned.

The rat-like little clerk bared his teeth.

* * * * *

Bill o' Burnt Bay and the boys of the _Spot Cash_ had seen what the
lifting fog disclosed--the _Black Eagle_ moored to the rocks of the
Little Pony and unloading. But they had not fathomed the mystery. A
mystery it was, however, and a deep one. To solve it they came down
the hill towards the schooner in a body and were presently face to
face with skipper and clerk on t