t Kirkwall."

"Yes, she called at Kirkwall," I said. "I saw that on the chart."

"That was just before I joined the Falcon, captain," continued
Peter, turning to Flett. "I mind them all, those dead folk, even to
the dog that Ericson has told us about--a retriever named Bounce.
Our skipper was a Dane named Thomassen, and his wife sailed with us
that voyage. She was as fine a woman as ever I see in Denmark.
Murray was the first mate, and the man Ericson saw through the
porthole can have been none other than Jenkins, the supercargo; he
belonged to Bristol. The only thing that puzzles me is the man that
Ericson saw lying in the captain's room."

"Maybe he went aboard in Iceland, Peter--a passenger," suggested
Flett. "Ye canna tell."

"Ay, that'll just be it," mused Peter, "a passenger, no doubt. Ay,
I well believe that will just be what he was."

Lieutenant Fox at this point moved away from the circle to get a
light for his pipe at the stove. He stood behind us listening to a
conversation between Colin Lothian and Jack Paterson; and as Peter
Brown lapsed into silent meditation I diverted my own attention to
what Colin and Jack were saying.

"Ay, Colin, but that's news," said Paterson. "And so Harry Ewan has
fallen into their hands at last, eh!"

"Ay, just that," said Lothian. "I was over at Clestron yestreen,
and they were telling me that just as Harry was slipping round into
the Bay of Houton, thinking, no doubt, that everything was clear
for the landin' o' his cargo, the revenue boat came out from behind
the Holm, like a hawk on a ferret. Ye may be sure, Jack, that Harry
and his crew didna give in without a fight for it; but the navy
lads had the upper hand at last, and, what was more to their
purpose, they found in Ewan's lugger five gallant casks o' whisky,
not to speak o' half a dozen rolls o' tobacco, and I dinna ken how
muckle salt and candles."

Lothian had raised his voice, and several of the men had moved
closer to him to hear the particulars of this raid upon one of the
known smugglers of Scapa Flow. So much, indeed, was the general
attention occupied that none of the men seemed to regard the
entrance of yet another person into the inn parlour. This was none
other than Tom Kinlay, who, with his great boots and pea jacket on
and his sou'wester hat, looked as big a man as any of them.

For a moment he hesitated, on seeing the young naval officer, but,
emboldened by Mr. Fox's disguised appearance, he too