scent."

"Glass?" I echoed.

"That's his d--d name, lad--Aaron Glass; though he've passed under
others, and plenty of 'em, in his time. Well, now, if I can slip out
o' Falmouth unbeknowns to him, an' win to your father--on the
Plymouth road, I've heard you say and a little this side of
St. Germans--"

"You might walk over to Penryn and pick up the night coach."

Captain Coffin shook his head as he turned out his pockets.

"One shilling, lad, an' two ha'pennies. It won't carry me. An' I
daren' go home to refit; an' I daren' send _you_."

"I could take a message to Captain Branscome," I suggested; "an' he
might fetch you the money, if you tell him where to look for it."

"That's an idea," decided Captain Coffin, after a moment's thought.
He unbuttoned his waistcoat, dived a hand within the breast of his
shirt, and pulled forth a key looped through with a tarry string.
This string he severed with his pocket-knife. "Run you down to the
cap'n's lodgings," said he, handing me the key, "an' tell him to go
straight an' unlock the cupboard in the cornder--the one wi' the
toolips painted over the door. You know it? Well, say that on the
second shelf he'll find a small bagful o' money--he needn't stay to
count it--an' 'pon the same shelf, right back in the cornder, a roll
o' papers. Tell him to keep the papers till he hears from me, but