Truth to tell, they had seen a
little of the sinister side of Basil's character, and had a pretty
wholesome dread of him. Their new friend, who knew his man so well,
was best fitted for the dangerous enterprise. They wished him joy of
it, and would be content to share its fruits. To Dan's astonishment,
they told him that Basil was hiding across the Sound in his own
ancestral village.

"Heart o' me!" he exclaimed, "he is mine! Yon place is filled with my
own kith and kin. The fox is in a very ring of dogs."

"Get not too many helpers, friend," said Nick cunningly, "else will the
spoil be split into too many portions."

"Well argued!" exclaimed Basil's dupes. "Too many hands in the
meal-tub means small share apiece."

"Never fear, comrades. A buss on the cheek or a handshake will be
payment enough. I shall not tell them that they are helping me to lay
fingers on the wealth of the Indies. Will ye take another flagon to
wish me success? I must be going. The afternoon wears on, and night
must be my time for work. Where shall we meet to-morrow?"

"Here, at noon," suggested Ned Johnson.

"Here, at noon," agreed Dan. He got up and went to the street door,
and Nick went with him.

"Cunningly managed, Dan," he murmured. "'Tis better than putting sword
to their throats and pricking out the information. Art going alone?"

"No; meet me at Ian Davey's boathouse at sunset. Let Ned keep an eye
on yon two."

Chapter XXIX.

THE WIDOW'S HOUSE.

The springtide sun set ruddily and frostily across the Sound; and as
the fiery ball hung for a moment on the western shore, a broad pathway
like a pathway of rippling blood, or deep-tinged, running gold, went in
a line from Ian Davey's boatyard to the Cornish coast.

"An omen!" cried Dan, seeing with the eye of the superstitious sailor.
"We sail to wealth over a golden sea."

Nick shook his head. "The colour is not yellow enough for my liking.
Is the boat ready?"

"Ay."

"Then let us be going whilst the breeze holds easterly."

Ian Davey's lad came out of the boathouse with a pair of oars on his
shoulders. He went down to a little fisher boat that rocked gently
against the end of the wooden jetty. The two sailor-men followed him.
The mast was stepped, and they pushed out from the shore, the two men
rowing and the lad steering. As soon as they were far enough out to
catch the breeze the sail was set, and the little craft went bowling
along over the fas