before noon, and after a wholesome scare. It seems they were late,
and all pretty so-so by the time they reached the Barbican Steps;
and, let be that there was no boat for them, the watermen one and all
declined to take them off in any such weather. Nothing for it but to
doss the night ashore, which they did. But I wouldn't give much for
their feelings next morning when they put off and, lo! there was no
_Swallow_ in the Merchant Shipping Anchorage. In Cawsand Bay, you
understand, we were well hidden by the land, and it cost them at
least a couple of hours to guess our whereabouts.

"Long as the time was, it wasn't enough to wear out the effects of
the--well, the Cinematograph. A yellower set, or a bluer in the
gills, you never set eyes on. They came aboard, and the skipper,
having made some inquiries of me, called up Link, cleared his throat
quite in the old approved style, and began to make a speech.

"Link cut it short.

"'All right, my precious swine! Now step below and wash off the
traces. If you behave pretty, maybe I'll not report you.'"

VIII.

"That finished the lot," wound up the Schoolmaster. "There _was_ no
answer to it, if you come to think."

"And Link never told?"

"Never a word, sir. Nor did I. But the story leaked out somehow,
and it gave the Commander the whip-hand of his Committee, to ship a
new set of officers. Ship and tender, sir, the _Egeria_ nowadays is
something to be proud of. But for my part I don't go on any more of
these summer cruises. The open sea never suited my stomach, and I
prefer a walk for my holiday."

LIEUTENANT LAPENOTIERE.

The night-porter at the Admiralty had been sleeping in his chair.
He was red-eyed and wore his livery coat buttoned at random.
He grumbled to himself as he opened the great door.

He carried a glass-screened candle, and held it somewhat above the
level of his forehead--which was protuberant and heavily pock-marked.
Under the light he peered out at the visitor, who stood tall and
stiff, with uniform overcoat buttoned to the chin, between the Ionic
pillars of the portico.

"Who's there?"

"Lieutenant Lapenotiere, of the _Pickle_ schooner--with dispatches."

"Dispatches?" echoed the night-porter. Out beyond the screen of
masonry that shut off the Board of Admiralty's forecourt from
Whitehall, one of the tired post-horses started blowing through its
nostrils on this foggy night.

"From Admiral Collingwood--Mediterranean