matter.

"Well, Prodgers, what news have you to-day?" asked Augustus.

"There is a man a-wandering about down in Skye, just here and there,
with nothing in particular to say for himself."

"What sort of a looking fellow is he?"

"Well, he's light, and don't come up to the captain's marks; but there's
no knowing what disguises a fellow will put on. I don't think he's got
the captain's legs, and a man can't change his legs."

"Captain Scarborough would not remain loitering about in Skye where he
would be known by half the autumn tourists who saw him."

"That's just what I was saying to Wilkinson," said Prodgers. "Wilkinson
seems to think that a man may be anybody as long as nobody knows who he
is. 'That ain't the captain,' said I."

"I'm afraid he's got out of England," said the captain's brother.

"There's no place where he can be run down like New York, or Paris, or
Melbourne, and it's them they mostly go to. We've wired 'em all three,
and a dozen other ports of the kind. We catches 'em mostly if they go
abroad; but when they remains at home they're uncommon troublesome.
There was a man wandering about in County Donegal. We call Ireland at
home, because we've so much to do with their police since the Land
League came up; but this chap was only an artist who couldn't pay his
bill. What do you think about it, Mr. Annesley?" said the policeman,