The next day a number of sampans and canoes loaded with fruit, vegetables, and flowers, came alongside the Hawk. Mr. Dykes had been in error when he stated his belief that the Germans had cleared all the natives out. As it was discovered afterwards, the people had fled to the interior on hearing the guns and had only come back that afternoon.

Smith, walking along the deck, caught sight of Dora Fletcher leaning over the taffrail, just below which was a sampan loaded with wonderful tropical flowers. Its owner had been endeavouring to sell these, but without much success, because none of the crew wanted flowers, being chiefly concerned with the eatables.

"How much?" asked the girl of the native in the sampan.

The man did not understand English, but he comprehended the girl's gestures, and made some unintelligible reply.

Miss Fletcher, seeing Smith, asked if he would help her.

"Like a bird," answered the second-mate cheerfully, and, addressing the owner of the flowers, shouted something in the vernacular.

"Well?" queried the girl, when the man had answered.

"He says," answered Smith, "that you can have all those flowers for a pair of old trousers."

The girl stared at him with a look of astonishment that gradually gave place to amusement.

"It's the truth, straight," went on Smith, as though she had questioned the accuracy of his translation.

"What am I to do?" she asked helplessly. "I wanted those flowers."

"I dunno, unless—half a mo' though. I'll be back in a jiff," and the second-mate darted off towards his cabin.

He returned a couple of minutes later with a pair of greasy, paint-daubed trousers over his arm.

"Here, corffee-dial," he said, and flung the garments into the sampan.

The native's face expanded into a broad grin, he cast an approving eye over the discarded trousers, and then started to hand up the flowers.

"How's that?" demanded Smith triumphantly, when the sampan had been emptied.

"It's very kind of you," answered the girl. "How much do I owe you for the trousers?"

"Owe me!" ejaculated the other. Then he smiled. "Well, I reckon I could have got a bob for them from a Whitechapel Sheeny."

"Then I owe you a shilling."

Smith nodded. He knew she would insist on paying him that shilling and was wondering how on earth she would raise it. He helped her to carry the flowers away and heap them on the bunk in her cabin.

"Oh, aren't they lovely?" she murmured.

"Um—m, I s'pose so," answered Smith, eyeing them critically, "but I'd rather have a cokernut myself," whereupon he departed.

Dora Fletcher, susceptible to beauty herself, was amused at the second-mate's polite contempt for the flowers. She began to arrange them about the cabin, and, while doing so, was struck by a whimsical thought.

What, she wondered, would the grim and taciturn Captain think if he came back and found his cabin full of tastefully arranged flowers?

She paused for a minute with one finger on her underlip, considering the startling proposition. Then her mouth curved in an ironical little smile, and, half-amused, half-contemptuous of her action, she gathered up some scarlet hibiscus into a bunch and made her way towards the Captain's cabin. Descending the companion quietly, she found herself for the second time in that mysterious sanctum. It was not very large, and there were none of the homely decorations—photographs, pictures, and so forth—with which some skippers decorate their quarters. Some maps and charts, a pair of pistols, one or two bracket-shelves with books hung from the bulkheads, and the sideboards were littered with odds and ends—tobacco-pipes, half-empty boxes of matches, and other masculine lumber. The place reeked, too, of strong tobacco, and there were two or three cigar-butts lying on the table.

The girl glanced around her with an expression of mingled amusement and perplexity, then took a tumbler from the rack and filled it with water. Having arranged the flowers in it to her satisfaction, she stood for a moment surveying the effect, with that half-ironical smile still playing about her lips.

As she stood thus, the cabin door opened softly and she swung round, the blood mounting in a crimson flood to her face. But, with a gasp of relief, she saw that the intruder was Sing-hi and not the Captain, and her heart ceased beating tumultuously.

The imperturbable celestial showed not the slightest sign of surprise at finding her there, and merely greeted her with his usual urbane smile.

"Sing-hi, I have been putting some flowers here for the Captain," she said; "but you're not to tell him I've been here—savee?"

"Savee," answered Sing-hi, and the girl left the cabin feeling tolerably sure that the Chinaman would not betray her.

She was quite correct in this assumption, for, after watching her disappear up the companion, Sing-hi shuffled back into the cabin, emptied the flowers out of the port, dried the glass, and returned it to the rack.

During the afternoon McPhulach, who had recovered from the effects of his debauch, went ashore to meet Calamity. The engineer wished to inspect the workshop and the plant it contained, in order to make arrangements for repairing the Hawk's engines as speedily as possible. Also, since the Captain had decided to convey some of the prisoners to Singapore in the gunboat, the latter had to be examined and overhauled before she could be floated; thus, in one way and another, McPhulach and his staff were likely to be kept busy for several days to come.

Leaving the engineer to attend to these matters, Calamity went in search of Mr. Dykes, whom he found superintending the loading of lighters with coal for replenishing the Hawk's bunkers. To facilitate this work, the mate had pressed some of the German prisoners into his service and these were employed in transferring the coal from the "go-down" to the jetty.

"Thought I might as well make use of these squareheads, sir," he explained when the Captain came up.

"Where are the others?"

"Still in the shack yonder, sir. Before rations were served out this morning I made 'em all take a bath in the harbour. One of 'em, who speaks English, said he should complain to you."

"On account of the bath?"

"Yes, sir. Called it cruelty towards defenceless prisoners."

"We'll see about that later. How many have you got, Mr. Dykes?"

"Somewhere between thirty and forty I guess, sir. One of them—the slob who complained about the bath—reckons that the explosion and the fire did for about the same number, not countin' those who were killed and wounded in the fighting."

"Which means that there must have been about a hundred men in the fort all told."

"That's how I figger it out, sir."

"Well, you'd better fetch the prisoners out, Mr. Dykes, and I'll have a look at them," said Calamity.

Accordingly they were marched out of the "go-down" under an armed guard and paraded before the Captain. Most of them were soldiers, but a few had formed part of the gunboat's crew and belonged to the German Naval Reserve.

"Which is the man who wishes to make a complaint?" asked Calamity, when the prisoners had filed past him.

"You with the grouch, fall out!" cried the mate.

A man in sailor's uniform stepped out of the ranks, and, drawing himself up stiffly, saluted the Captain. The latter, as he glanced at him more closely, started, and a look of recognition flashed between the two.

"Your name?" asked Calamity.

"Fritz Siemann, sir," answered the prisoner.

"Mr. Dykes," said the Captain, "have this man sent aboard the Hawk, and see that he's kept away from the other prisoners."

"Very good, sir," answered the mate, who supposed that Calamity was going to deal with the grumbler in a manner that would check any further display of discontent.

When, later on in the day, the Captain returned on board the Hawk, he ordered Fritz Siemann to be brought to his cabin. The prisoner was brought in by a couple of sailors, who, at a word from Calamity, left them together.

"This is a strange meeting, my worthy Fritz," said the Captain, looking at the man with an ironical smile.

The prisoner shrugged his shoulders, but made no answer. He was a man of between thirty and forty, very fair, tall, and with a pair of small, cunning eyes.

"Well, how is it that I find you out here in the Pacific, a sailor instead of a valet?" asked the Captain after a pause.

"I came out on a cruiser as a Naval Reservist, and was afterwards transferred to the gunboat," answered the fellow.

"When did you leave England?"

"A day or two before war was declared."

"You were recalled by the German Government?"

"Yes."

"H'm; and how was your master when you left?"

"He died about three months before I went," answered the man.

"Died!"

"Yes, sir, he fell from his horse while hunting."

Calamity was silent for some moments, and then he turned once more to the German.

"Did he ever mention my name in your presence?"

"Not often, but he was always trying to find out if you were dead."

A grim smile stole over the Captain's face at this. Somehow it seemed to amuse him.

"But, so far as you know, he was never able to find out for certain?"

"I don't think so, but everyone thought you were dead, except Mr. Vayne."

"Yes, Vayne was the only friend I had," muttered the Captain. He turned sharply to the prisoner. "Did my brother pay you well for assisting him in his rascality?"

"I—I don't understand," faltered the German nervously.

"Nevertheless, I should advise you to try," answered Calamity quietly, "it may save you considerable discomfort. Now, answer my question."

"He paid me well enough while I was in his service," growled the man reluctantly; "but, as for rascality——"

"I'm referring to the forged cheque," broke in the Captain.

The prisoner started and shot a keen glance at him.

"Forged cheque?" he repeated as if puzzled.

"I am perfectly aware of the part you played in that little affair, so don't risk your neck by trying to prevaricate. As it is, I'm half inclined to hang you here and now, but you shall assuredly swing, my lad, if you utter a single lie."

The ex-valet turned deathly pale, for he realised that the threat was no empty one. He shifted uneasily from one foot to another, glanced furtively round the cabin as if considering the possibilities of escape, and finally let his gaze rest on the Captain.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked sullenly.

"I want you to tell me the truth, and bear in mind that your life depends on it."

"About the cheque?"

"About the cheque."

"He forged it."

"How do you know?"

"I was in the room with him?"

"You helped him, in fact?"

"I suppose so."

"By God, you deserve to be hanged if ever a man did," exclaimed the Captain.

"You asked me to tell you the truth, sir," said the man, shrinking back.

"Get on with your story."

"There's nothing much to tell, sir. The scheme worked without a hitch, and everyone was deceived—except Mr. Vayne; he was always doubtful."

"Well, and what did you get out of it? Such assistance as you gave was invaluable."

"Five hundred pounds."

"H'm, a very profitable stroke of business on your part, especially as it placed you in a position to levy blackmail at will. Now what fee"—an ugly expression crossed the Captain's face as he uttered this—"do you require in consideration of your writing down a full account of that interesting transaction and signing it in the presence of witnesses?"

The other hesitated a moment.

"A thousand pounds in cash and a guarantee that I shall not be handed over to the British authorities as a prisoner of war."

"Agreed. You shall have the money in English and American notes as soon as you have prepared the document."

"And if I change my mind?"

"Why, then," answered Calamity with a genial smile, "it'll be the last time you ever change it on this earth," and, rising, he laid pen, ink, and paper before the prisoner.

"Call the steward when you have finished and he will send for me," said Calamity as he left the cabin.

For nearly an hour the German wrote steadily, pausing every now and again to read what he had written. When at last he had finished he called for the steward.

"Tell the Captain I'm ready," he said as Sing-hi appeared in the doorway.

The Chinaman nodded and a few minutes afterwards the Captain entered, accompanied by Smith and McPhulach.

"Be seated, gentlemen," said Calamity, himself taking a chair. "I have brought you here," he went on, "to witness the signature of a document which this man has written. He will read it over first, and when I tell you that every word is absolutely confidential, I feel sure you will both observe the strictest secrecy. At least," he added significantly, "it will be to your advantage to do so."

The two witnesses murmured assent and settled themselves down to listen. Then, at a nod from the Captain, Fritz picked up the paper and began to read. At the start, the engineer and the second-mate looked mildly surprised, but as the man read on their expressions changed to amazement and they stared from the reader to Calamity with looks of mingled incredulity and awed wonder. At length the prisoner, having finished reading the document, laid it on the table and signed it.

"Blimey!" muttered Smith under his breath.

"A michty quare business," remarked McPhulach.

"Now, gentlemen," said Calamity, "I will ask you to append your signatures as witnesses of this interesting confession."

Smith picked up the pen, and, after a preparatory flourish, signed his name. Then he handed the pen to McPhulach, who took it somewhat gingerly.

"I'm no incurrin' ony liabeelity?" he asked cautiously.

"None whatever," answered the Captain.

"I dinna hauld wi' signing papers mesel'," went on the engineer, "it's producteeve of unco——"

"Are you going to sign that paper or not?" interrupted the Captain.

McPhulach hesitated no longer, but hastily scrawled his signature underneath Smith's.

"Thank you both," said Calamity; "that's all I shall need."

Smith and the engineer, taking the hint, departed and left the Captain with his prisoner.

"Now you want your reward, I suppose," remarked Calamity, and, stepping into his little sleeping cabin, he brought out the money-chest which had been taken from the treasure-house in the fort. From this he counted out the equivalent of one thousand pounds, most of it, at the prisoner's request, in American notes.

"You must give me a receipt for these," he said.

The man wrote out a receipt, signed it, and took in exchange the parcel of notes.

"You've promised not to hand me over to the British, remember," said he.

"I shan't forget it," answered the Captain. "There are quite enough scoundrels in English prisons already, without adding to their number."

"And I can't go back to the island."

"I suppose not. Well, I will see what can be done, and in the meantime you had better stay here."

Calamity locked the document in a steel deed-box, placed it under the bunk in his sleeping-cabin, and then went on deck, having previously told Sing-hi to keep watch outside the cabin and not to let the prisoner leave it. He was somewhat puzzled with regard to the promise he had made Fritz Siemann, for, should he be taken to Singapore with the other prisoners, he would certainly be interned. The only way out of it, seemingly, was to put in at some neutral port and land the man there.

Some two hours later he returned to the cabin and found the prisoner seated on the settee ostensibly reading a book.

"I hope," said the Captain quietly, "you find the book entertaining, Mr. Siemann?"

"Ye—yes, thank you," answered the man rather nervously.

"May I ask, purely as a matter of curiosity, whether you always read your books upside down?"

The volume slipped from the German's hand and he muttered a guttural oath.

"I just picked it up as you came in," he said.

"And did your investigations meet with success?"

"My—I don't understand."

"I mean," went on the Captain, "did you succeed in your efforts to force that deed-box and abstract your confession?"

The prisoner's face changed colour, but he tried to bluster out a denial.

"I—I haven't touched the box," he said.

"Then it's rather strange that your jacket should be smeared with white paint. You see, my bunk was re-painted only this——"

The Captain's remark was cut short, for the German suddenly sprang to his feet and aimed a terrific blow at him with a short, pointed sheath-knife. Calamity was just in time to avoid the weapon, which struck the table with such force that the point snapped off, while the would-be murderer stumbled forward under the impetus of the stroke. Before he could recover himself, the Captain had seized him by the throat, at the same time calling for Sing-hi.

"The irons out of my drawer," he said when the Chinaman appeared.

Sing-hi opened a drawer, took therefrom a pair of handcuffs and slipped them over the prisoner's wrists.

"You'd better lock the fellow in your pantry for the time being," said Calamity as he went out.

The same night Mr. Fritz Siemann—that is to say, his mortal remains—was lowered into the sea, sewed up in a canvas bag. And, inside that bag, besides the firebars used as sinkers, was the thousand pounds in notes.

Captain Calamity was not the man to break his word.