“HULLO!” said Hank. “What the devil do you want?”

“Am I speaking to Mr. Fisher?” asked the newcomer, addressing himself to the town lot speculator.

“You are.”

“You’re the man that’s going after the Dutchman?”

“Yep.”

“D’you want to catch him?”

“Oh, Lord, no,” said Hank. “I’m only going to inquire after his health. Go on, what are you getting at?”

“Well, if you want to catch him, get on deck this instant minute and see I’ve not been followed. Go up casual and have a look round. Keep your eyes skinned for a man with a patch over his left eye. I’m not funning. I mean business. Get a-deck. I tell you I’ve no time to explain.”

Hank stared at the other for a second, then he uncoiled himself, crossed the cabin and vanished up the companion way.

Neither George nor the bearded one spoke a word. They were listening. Then they heard voices.

“Say, you,” came a voice from the wharf, “did y’ see a guy goin’ along here—red-whiskered fella?”

“Man with a red necktie?” came Hank’s voice.

“Yeh—he’s my pal—which way was he goin’?”

“He was making along towards the union dock.”

Silence. The companion way creaked and Hank reappeared standing in the cabin doorway.

“Well,” said Hank, “that’s done. I’d no sooner got on deck than a fellow with a patch on his eye came along with kind inquiries. I’ve sent him along. Now I must ask you for your visiting card—and explanations.”

The stranger laughed.

“Candon’s my name,” said he. “Bob Candon. I’ll take a seat for a minute, if you don’t mind, to get my wits together. I only blew in yesterday afternoon, came up from S’uthard and anchored off Tiburon and first news I had when I got ashore was about you and the Dutchman.”

“What was your ship?” cut in Hank.

“Heart of Ireland, thirty-ton schooner, owned and run by Pat McGinnis, last port—” Candon cut himself short. “That would be telling,” said he, with a laugh.

Hank handed him a cigarette and lit another.

“I’m not wanting to bore into your business,” said Hank, “only I’m giving you this straight, I’ve no time for blind man’s buff. You were proposing to come along with us to hook the Dutchman?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” said Candon. “I don’t want you to lose wind or time over me, I’d have you know I’m dealing straight, but I’m mixed with a crowd that’s not straight, get me? Don’t you bother where the Heart dropped her mud-hook last, nor how much her business was mixed up with the Dutchman’s business. Don’t you bother about one single thing but the proposition I’m going to put before you, and it’s this. Ship me out of this port down south and I’ll put in your hand every last ounce of the boodle the Dutchman’s been collecting, for I know where it’s hid; on top of that I’ll make you a present of the man himself for I know where he’s to be found. That’s my part of the bargain. And now for yours. I ask nothing but five thousand dollars in my fist when the job’s done, and to be put ashore somewhere safe, so that those chaps on the Heart won’t be able to get at me.”

He had been holding the cigarette unlighted. He struck a match, lit it, took in a great volume of smoke and slowly expelled it.

“Well,” said he, “what’s your opinion on that?”

Hank was sitting almost like Rodin’s Thinker. Then he uncoiled a bit.

“Do those guys on the Heart know where the Dutchman’s to be found?” asked he.

“No, they don’t.”

“Do they know where the boodle is?”

“N’more than Adam.”

“Do they know you know where it is?”

“They suspect. That’s my trouble—what’s this I’m saying, ‘suspect’. Why it’s more than that now. Now I’ve run away from them they’ll know for certain.”

“And if they catch you?”

“They’ll drill me, sure.”

“Was that guy with the patch, McGinnis?”

“Nope—Thacker, McGinnis’s right hand man.”

Hank brooded.

Then said he: “Were you a friend of the Dutchman?”

“What you mean to ask,” said the other, “is, am I letting him down? I’ll just tell you, the Dutchman has been my enemy, but I’m not moving in this because I have a grouch against him. I’m playing my own game, but it’s a straight game.”

Hank brooded a second more.

“We’d have to hide you aboard here till we start,” said he.

“You will,” replied the other.

“Right,” said Hank. “Now will you take a rag and clean the engine for two minutes while I have a talk to my friend here in private.”

He led the way out and came back.

“Well,” said he, “what do you think of that guy?”

“I like him,” said George.

“I like him well enough,” said Hank, “Question is about his story. It seems plain enough. He’s come up with a crew of hoodlums who’ve been in touch with Vanderdecken, they’ve been hunting for old man Vanderdecken’s boodle. Nothing doing. Then they’ve left the hunt and put in here. They had big suspicions he was in the know and wanted the boodle for himself. He’s only been let ashore with a nurse and he’s given her the slip. It’s all plain. Then Providence comes in, which is us. Seems extraordinary, don’t it? Barrett advertising us like that and all, for here we are, a sure bolt-hole for him, advertised bigger than Heinz’s Pickles.”

“How do you mean a bolt-hole?”

“Well, look at it. Those crooks are after him like a coyote after a prairie dog. He’s got to get out of here, he might get out in a foc’sle if he wasn’t knifed before the ship sailed, but that wouldn’t lead him anywhere except maybe round Cape Horn, whereas he gets a lift back down the coast to where he knows the Dutchman has hid the boodle and he gets five thousand dollars in his fist and a set ashore. Then Providence comes in again, seems to me. I reckoned I’d have to spend five thousand on this expedition and between Tyrebuck and Barrett it won’t cost me a cent, bar the hire of four Chinks for crew, so I can easy afford to pay him five thousand and come out winners. Besides, he’s an extra hand himself and a good sailor man, if I’m any judge.”

“It does seem all to fit in,” said George.

“Well, shall we take him?” said Hank. “It’s a risk, but I reckon we’ve got to take risks.”

“Take him,” said George.

Hank went out and returned with the other. Candon had taken off his coat and his shirt sleeves were rolled up and his hands showed the engine-room business he had been put on.

“Come right in,” said Hank. “We’ve concluded to take you along, but there’s conditions.”

“Spit them out,” said Candon.

“Well, first of all I haven’t five thousand dollars to be taking down the coast with me, but I’ll put a thousand in your fist when the job’s done and mail you the other four to any address you like.”

“Oh, I’ll trust you for that,” said Candon. “What else?”

“Second, if we find the Dutchman’s property, it will have to go back to the owners.”

“That’s just what I’d like best,” said Candon. “I tell you straight it would have been a condition with me, only I took it for granted seeing you’re out, so to speak, in the name of the law. I’m no pirate. I’m not saying I was always of the same way of thinking, but I reckon those ballyhooleys I’ve just left have given me a shake.”

“Well then,” said Hank, “there’s only one more condition. You’ll help to work the ship for your bunk and board without pay.”

“Right,” said Candon, “and now, if you’ll take that styleographic pen I see sticking out of your vest pocket and give’s a bit of paper, we’ll draw the contract.”

Hank produced the pen and an old bill on the back of which the “contract” was made out, under the terms of which Candon was to receive five thousand dollars and a set ashore after the Dutchman had been brought safe aboard the Wear Jack, also he was to take the expedition to the spot where, to the best of his belief, was cached the Dutchman’s plunder.

This done, Candon went back to his engine cleaning, having produced and handed over to Hank four ten dollar notes.

“I’ll want a toothbrush and a couple of shirts and a couple of suits of pyjamas,” said he. “Maybe, as I can’t get ashore, you’ll get them for me. All my truck’s on board the Heart.”

“Bud,” said Hank to his partner that night, “I hope to the Lord we ain’t stung. Suppose the chap’s some practical joker put on us by Barrett, or the boys at the Club.”

“Nonsense,” said George. “Where’d be the sense? Besides the chap’s genuine. You have only to look at his face....”