he bait and force
him to come ashore to replenish his tubs. Once ashore, the shanghaiing
was not difficult.

Code had no doubt whatever that the whole plan, commencing with the
disappearance of the man in the motor-dory and ending with his
abduction from St. Pierre, was part and parcel of the same scheme. In
this, his crowning achievement of skill and cunning, Burns had showed
himself an admirable plotter, playing upon human nature as he did to
effect his ends.

For it was nothing but a realization of Peter Ellinwood's weakness in
the matter of his size and fighting ability that resulted in his
(Code's) easy capture. Schofield had no shadow of a doubt but that the
big Frenchman had been hired to play his part, and that, in the
howling throng that surrounded the fighters the crew of the _Nettie
B._ were waiting to seize the first opportunity to make the duel a
_melee_ and effect their design in the confusion.

Their opportunity came when the Frenchman tried to trip Pete Ellinwood
after big Jean had fallen and Code rushed into the fray with the
ferocity of a wildcat. Some one raised the yell "Police," he was
surrounded by his enemies, some one rapped him over the head with a
black-jack, and the job was done. It was clever business, and despite
the helplessness of his position, Code could not but admire the
brilliance of such a scheming brain, while at the same time deploring
that it was not employed in some legitimate and profitable cause.

Now he was in the enemy's hands, and St. Andrew's was less than a
dozen hours away; St. Andrew's, with its jail, its grand jury, and its
pen.

Life aboard the _Nettie B._ had been a dead monotony. On the foremast
above Code's prison hung the bell that rang the watches, so that the
passage of every half hour was dinged into his ears. Three times a day
he was given food, and twice a day he was allowed to pace up and down
the deck, a man holding tightly to each arm.

The weather had been propitious, with a moderate sea and a good
quartering wind. The _Nettie_ had footed it properly, and Code's
experienced eye had, on one occasion, seen her log her twelve knots in
an hour. The fact had raised his estimation of her fifty per cent.

It must not be supposed that, as Code sat in his hard wooden chair, he
forgot the diary that he had read the first afternoon of his
incarceration. Often he thought of it, and often he drew it out from
its place and reread those last entries: "Swears he w