ere," he said, taking his seat at the tiller, "this is my show,
Job Rowsell. There's a five pound note for you at the end of the day, if
you go where I tell you and nowhere else."

The man eyed him sullenly. A few minutes later they were rushing out of
the harbour.

"It's a poor job, sailing a pleasure boat," he muttered. "Not many of us
as wouldn't sell his soul for five pounds."

They reached St. Agnes before they came round on the first tack. Then,
with the spray beating in their faces, they swung around and made for
the opening between the two islands. For a time the business of sailing
kept them both occupied. In two hours' time they were standing out
towards Bishop Lighthouse. Job Rowsell took a long breath and filled a
pipe with tobacco. He was looking more himself now.

"I'll bring her round the point there," he said, "and we'll come up the
Channel and home by Bryher."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Granet ordered. "Keep her head out for
the open sea till I tell you to swing round."

Rowsell looked at his passenger with troubled face.

"Are you another of 'em?" he asked abruptly.

"Don't you mind who I am," Granet answered. "I'm on a job I'm going to
see through. If a fiver isn't enough for you, make it a tenner, but keep
her going where I put her."

Rowsell obeyed but his face grew darker. He leaned towards his
passenger.

"What's your game?" he demanded hoarsely. "There's some of them on the
island'd have me by the throat if they only knew the things I could tell
'em. What's your game here, eh? Are you on the cross?"

"I am not," Granet replied, "or I shouldn't have needed to bring you to
sea. I know all about you, Job Rowsell. You're doing very well and you
may do a bit better by and by. Now sit tight and keep a still tongue in
your head."

They were in a queer part of the broken, rocky island group. There was a
great indenture in the rocks up which the sea came hissing; to the left,
round the corner, the lighthouse. Granet drew what looked to be a large
pocket-handkerchief from the inner pocket of his coat, pulled down
their pennant with nimble fingers, tied on another and hauled it up. Job
Rowsell stared at him.

"What's that?"

"It's the German flag, you fool," Granet answered.

"I'll have none of that on my boat," the man declared surlily. "An odd
fiver for a kindness--"

"Shut up!" Granet snapped, drawing his revolver from his pocket. "You
run the boat and mind your own business,