ends most of his time in the
public-house and he seems to have taken a fancy for night sailing alone,
which to my mind, and there are others of us as say the same, ain't none
too healthy an occupation. And that's all there is to be said of Job
Rowsell, as I knows of."

"It's a good deal, too," Granet remarked thoughtfully. "Where does he
live?"

"Fourth house on the left in yonder street," Matthew Nichols replied,
pointing with his pipe. "Maybe he'll come if you send for him, maybe he
won't."

"I must try to keep my word to my friend," Granet decided. "If I don't
find him, I'll come back and look for you fellows again."

He turned back to the little writing-room, scribbled a note and sent
it down by the boots. In about half an hour he was called once more out
into the garden. A huge, loose-jointed man was standing there, unshaven,
untidily dressed, and with the look in his eyes of a man who has been
drinking heavily.

"Are you Job Rowsell?" Granet inquired.

"That's my name," the man admitted. "Is there anything wrong with it?"

"Not that I know of," Granet replied. "I want you to take me out
sailing. Is your boat ready?"

The man glanced up at the sky.

"I don't know as I want to go," he grumbled. "There's dirty weather
about."

"I think you'd better," Granet urged. "I'm not a bad payer and I can
help with the boat. Let's go and look at her any way."

They walked together down to the harbour. Granet said very little, his
companion nothing at all. They stood on the jetty and gazed across to
where the sailing boats were anchored.

"That's the Saucy Jane," Job Rowsell indicated, stretching out a
forefinger.

Granet scrambled down into a small dinghy which was tied to the side of
the stone wall.

"We'd better be getting on board," he suggested.

Rowsell stared at him for a moment but acquiesced. They pulled across
and boarded the Saucy Jane. A boy whom they found on the deck took the
boat back. Rowsell set his sails slowly but with precision. The moment
he stepped on board he seemed to become an altered man.

"Where might you be wanting to go?" he asked. "You'll need them
oilskins, sure."

"I want to run out to the Bishop Lighthouse," Granet announced.

Rowsell shook his head.

"It's no sort of a day to face the Atlantic, sir," he declared. "We'll
try a spin round St. Mary and White Island, if you like."

Granet fastened his oilskins and stooped for a moment to alter one of
the sails.

"Look h