lainous interloper; how came you aboard of her?"

"I was in a sense tricked into it, sir, and when we got to Gheria Captain
Barker and Mr. Diggle, the supercargo, sold me to Angria."

"Sold you to the Pirate?"

"Yes, sir."

"And where do you hail from, then?"

"Shropshire, sir; my father was Captain Richard Burke in the Company's
service."

"Jupiter! You're Dick Burke's son! Gad, sir, give me your hand; I knew
Dick Burke; many's the sneaker of Bombay punch we've tossed off together.
No nonsense about Dick; give me your fist.

"And so you sneaked out of Gheria and sailed this grab, eh? Well, you're
a chip of the old block, and a credit to your old dad. I want to hear all
about this. And you'll have to come ashore and see the governor."

"It's very kind of you, Mr. Johnson, but really I can't appear before the
governor in this rig."

He glanced ruefully at his bare legs and feet and tattered garments.

"True, you en't very shipshape, but we'll soon alter that. Ever use a
razor?"

"Not yet, sir," replied Desmond with a smile.

"Thought not. Plenty of native barbers. You must get shaved. And I'll rig
you up in a suit of some sort. You must see the governor at once, and no
nonsense."

"What about the grab, sir?"

"Leave that to me. You've got a pretty mixed crew, I see. All escaped
prisoners, too?"

"All but four."

"And not one of 'em to be trusted, I'll swear. Well, I'll put a crew
aboard to take charge. Come along; there's no time to lose. Colonel Clive
goes to bed early."

"Colonel Clive! Is he here?"

"Yes; arrived from home two days ago. Ah! that reminds me; you're a
Shropshire lad; so's he; do you know him?"

"No, sir; I've seen him; I--I--"

Desmond stammered, remembering his unfortunate encounter with Clive in
Billiter Street.

"Well, well," said the harbor master, with a quizzical look; "you'll see
him again. Come along."

Desmond accompanied Mr. Johnson on shore. A crowd had gathered. There
were Sepoys in turban, cabay {cloak}, and baggy drawers; bearded Arabs;
Parsis in their square caps; and a various assortment of habitues of the
shore--crimps, landsharks, badmashes {bad characters}, bunder {port}
gangs. Seeing Desmond hold his nose at the all-prevailing stench of fish,
Mr. Johnson laughed.

"You'll soon get used to that," he said. "'Tis all fish oil and bummaloes
{small fish the size of smelt, known when dried as 'Bombay duck'} in
Bombay."

Having sent a trustworthy crew on bo