on the head of my old shipmate Rogers some fifteen years ago. I'll see
whether it has been earned yet."

"If I gave you a hundred guineas," said the innkeeper, repressing his
passion by a mighty effort, "you would not be satisfied."

"Reads like a book," said the stranger, in tones of pretended delight.
"What a man it is!"

He fell back as he spoke, and thrusting his hand into his pocket, drew
forth a long pistol as the innkeeper, a man of huge frame, edged toward
him.

"Keep your distance," he said, in a sharp, quick voice.

The innkeeper, in no wise disturbed at the pistol, turned away calmly,
and ringing the bell, ordered some spirits. Then taking a chair, he
motioned to the other to do the same, and they sat in silence until the
staring waiter had left the room again. The stranger raised his glass.

"My old friend Captain Rogers," he said, solemnly, "and may he never get
his deserts!"

"From what jail have you come?" inquired Mullet, sternly.

"'Pon my soul," said the other, "I have been in so many--looking for
Captain Rogers--that I almost forget the last, but I have just tramped
from London, two hundred and eighty odd miles, for the pleasure of seeing
your damned ugly figure-head again; and now I've found it, I'm going to
stay. Give me some money."