he raised his head and looked the captain
in the eyes.

"I don't remember exactly," faltered Wicks.

And at this remarkable falsehood the suspicions of the doctor were at
once quadrupled.

"By the way, which of you is called Wicks?" he asked easily.

"What's that?" snapped the captain, falling white as paper.

"Wicks," repeated the doctor; "which of you is he? That's surely a plain
question."

Wicks stared upon his questioner in silence.

"Which is Brown, then?" pursued the doctor.

"What are you talking of? what do you mean by this?" cried Wicks,
snatching his half-bandaged hand away, so that the blood sprinkled in
the surgeon's face.

He did not trouble to remove it; looking straight at his victim, he
pursued his questions. "Why must Brown go the same way?" he asked.

Wicks fell trembling on a locker. "Carthew told you," he cried.

"No," replied the doctor, "he has not. But he and you between you have
set me thinking, and I think there's something wrong."

"Give me some grog," said Wicks. "I'd rather tell than have you find
out. I'm damned if it's half as bad as what anyone would think."

And with the help of a couple of strong grogs, the tragedy of the
_Flying Scud_ was told for the first time.

It was a fortunate series of accidents that brought the story to the
doctor. He understood and pitied the position of these wretched men, and
came whole-heartedly to their assistance. He and Wicks and Carthew (so
soon as he was recovered) held a hundred councils and prepared a policy
for San Francisco. It was he who certified "Goddedaal" unfit to be
moved, and smuggled Carthew ashore under cloud of night; it was he who
kept Wicks's wound open that he might sign with his left hand; he who
took all their Chile silver and (in the course of the first day) got it
converted for them into portable gold. He used his influence in the
ward-room to keep the tongues of the young officers in order, so that
Carthew's identification was kept out of the papers. And he rendered
another service yet more important. He had a friend in San Francisco, a
millionaire: to this man he privately presented Carthew as a young
gentleman come newly into a huge estate, but troubled with Jew debts
which he was trying to settle on the quiet. The millionaire came readily
to help; and it was with his money that the wrecker gang was to be
fought. What was his name, out of a thousand guesses? It was Douglas
Longhurst.

As long as the Currency