much."

"Of course, you know that you can't take your luggage with you?"
the captain remarked.

"That is of no consequence at all, sir," Mr. Hamilton Fynes
answered. "I will leave instructions for my trunk to be sent on
after me. I have all that I require, for the moment, in this
suitcase."

The captain blew his whistle. Mr. Hamilton Fynes made his way
quietly to the lower deck, which was almost deserted. In a very
few minutes he was joined by half a dozen sailors, dragging a
rope ladder. The little tug came screaming around, and before any
of the passengers on the deck above had any idea of what was
happening, Mr. Hamilton Fynes was on board the Anna Maria, and on
his way down the river, seated in a small, uncomfortable cabin,
lit by a single oil lamp.

No one spoke more than a casual word to him from the moment he
stepped to the deck until the short journey was at an end. He was
shown at once into the cabin, the door of which he closed without
a moment's delay. A very brief examination of the interior
convinced him that he was indeed alone. Thereupon he seated
himself with his back to the wall and his face to the door, and
finding an English newspaper on the table, read it until they
reached the docks. Arrived there, he exchanged a civil good-night
with the captain, and handed a sovereign to the seaman who held
his bag while he disembarked.