aking," gasped Jim. "It's fifty thousand,
Mr. Borden."

Bellairs was on his feet in a moment. "Auctioneer," he said, "I have to
beg the favour of three moments at the telephone. In this matter I am
acting on behalf of a certain party to whom I have just written----"

"I have nothing to do with any of this," said the auctioneer brutally.
"I am here to sell this wreck. Do you make any advance on fifty
thousand?"

"I have the honour to explain to you, sir," returned Bellairs, with a
miserable assumption of dignity, "fifty thousand was the figure named by
my principal; but if you will give me the small favour of two moments at
the telephone----"

"O, nonsense!" said the auctioneer. "If you make no advance I'll knock
it down to Mr. Pinkerton."

"I warn you," cried the attorney, with sudden shrillness. "Have a care
what you're about. You are here to sell for the underwriters, let me
tell you--not to act for Mr. Douglas Longhurst. This sale has been
already disgracefully interrupted to allow that person to hold a
consultation with his minions; it has been much commented on."

"There was no complaint at the time," said the auctioneer, manifestly
discountenanced. "You should have complained at the time."

"I am not here to conduct this sale," replied Bellairs; "I am not paid
for that."

"Well, I am, you see," retorted the auctioneer, his impudence quite
restored; and he resumed his sing-song. "Any advance on fifty thousand
dollars? No advance on fifty thousand? No advance, gentlemen? Going at
fifty thousand, the wreck of the brig _Flying Scud_ going--going--gone!"

"My God, Jim, can we pay the money?" I cried, as the stroke of the
hammer seemed to recall me from a dream.

"It's got to be raised," said he, white as a sheet. "It'll be a hell of
a strain, Loudon. The credit's good for it, I think; but I shall have to
get around. Write me a cheque for your stuff. Meet me at the Occidental
in an hour."

I wrote my cheque at a desk, and I declare I could never have recognised
my signature. Jim was gone in a moment; Trent had vanished even earlier;
only Bellairs remained, exchanging insults with the auctioneer; and,
behold! as I pushed my way out of the exchange, who should run full tilt
into my arms but the messenger boy!

It was by so near a margin that we became the owners of the _Flying
Scud_.

FOOTNOTE:

[3] A low lawyer.

CHAPTER X

IN WHICH THE CREW VANISH

At the door of the exchange I found