“You may lower down that signal, Haywood,” said Hawkson, after I had watched the long skipper disappear in the darkness.

Glancing aloft, it was too dark to see what signal he meant, so I hesitated, knowing all our bunting was generally hauled down at sunset.

“That pennant flying from the gaff,” said Hawkson, noting my slowness. “That’s been flying all afternoon for Mr. Gull on the Desertas. Signal agreed on to call him in. We’re bound out to-morrow, but didn’t have to tell the whole island about it.”

I went to the spanker-boom and sought the signal halyard. Then I hauled down the pennant, which I remembered noting during the day, but gave no particular thought. Rolling it up, I started forward to turn in when Hawkson stopped me.

“I wish you would keep a lookout aft there,” said he, “I’m going below and turn in a bit, and 199I want to be called when the old man comes aboard. Get your supper from Heligoland, and then lay aft until the gig comes alongside.”

On reaching the forecastle, I noticed Heligoland eye me sharply, then he brought forth a piece of paper folded squarely and sealed on the corners in very fine style.

I wondered at this, for I had not received a note from any one for a long time. Looking askance at the Norwegian, I slowly tore it open, and spread it forth under the forecastle lamp. At first I could make little out of it, for it was a scrawl and somewhat blotted. Then I finally made out the name Richards at the bottom of it, and started in to read it afresh.

“My dear friend Heywood,” it went, “when you get this note, I will be off the ship. There won’t be any use looking for me until I choose to turn up, but you will see me again before long. I wanted you to go with me, but it couldn’t be fixed. If you take care not to get killed, maybe I can help you live a bit longer.
Peter Richards.”

The letter was somewhat ambiguous, but Richards was something of a scholar, having been a mate and an officer on a man-of-war, so I thought that it was perhaps simply a way he had of saying good-bye. 200I knew he intended to jump the ship, and supposed, of course, he would not think of such a thing without taking me in his confidence. Here he had gone, and he made no excuse, save that it could not be fixed. I swore at him for fully a minute, and then Heligoland asked what it was. As he could not read any language, let alone English, it was safe to tell him the first thing that happened not to bear in any way upon the case. He seemed satisfied.

At eight bells I had eaten a bad meal cooked by the Norwegian sailor left in charge, and betook myself aft to the quarter-deck. The night was quite dark, and the lights on the shore twinkled brightly, sending their reflection streaming seaward over the oily swell that rolled in gently upon the sand. There was little wind, barely enough to feel, and I lounged over the taffrail until I found myself dozing.

It was close to two bells when I was roused by a peculiar sound in the lazarette beneath me. There was a noise as of some one sawing gently, and this was followed by a scraping like that caused by dragging something heavy across the deck.

While I rested half upon the rail, with my eyes fixed upon the lazarette hatch, I became aware of the sound of voices in the water astern, coming from seaward. Soon I distinguished the gentle 201rippling of water from a boat’s stem, and heard Mr. Gull’s voice tell his men to take in their sail.

“Don’t seem to be any one on deck,” he growled, surlily, as the boat came under the counter directly beneath me.

“Give me your painter,” I said, quietly, reaching over for it, and then, as it was tossed up, taking it forward to the mizzen lanyards, where I proceeded to make it fast.

While doing this, I became aware of two men standing on the taffrail, carrying a heavy chest, which they were balancing upon the rail while bending on a line to it. At first I thought they were from the boat alongside, but instantly remembered the height of our quarter above the rail of the small boat, and knew no one could have climbed up so quickly.

“Stand from under,” growled one, whose voice sounded very like that of the red-headed villain Martin had taken into his drunken confidence aboard the brig. Then the chest disappeared over the rail, and the other man quickly caught a turn with the line about a belaying-pin, to ease it off. I was now close beside them, and had no difficulty in recognizing the silent one as the Guinea we had met in the brig that morning.

“Over with you!” growled the fellow who had first spoken. “Don’t be all night about letting that 202go,” and, suiting his action to his words, he sprang upon the rail and dropped over.

“What the blazes is this?” roared Mr. Gull from below, as the chest landed in his boat.

The fellow saw me as he slipped over the rail, and flung his knife at my face, the blade just grazing my cheek. Before I could recover myself, both the men had cleared the side and had dropped below. I rushed to the rail and peered over. Below there were fierce oaths and the sound of a desperate struggle, and in an insta............