"That was a squeak!" said Lorns when we were at last free of the
dangerous chief. "Quin, I thank you."

"That's all right," retorted Quin, with a grin; "do as much for me
some time."

That night, with the aid of a river rat, our trunk, jettisoned by the
excellent Quin, was fished up; and being tight as a drum, its contents
had come to little harm with their sudden baptism. At last, our dozen
silk trunks--holding a treasure of thirty thousand dollars and whereon
we looked to clear a heavy profit--were safe in the Reade Street loft;
and my hasty heart, which had been beating at double speed since that
almost fatal interference, slowed to normal count.

One might now suppose that our woes were at an end, all danger over,
and nothing to do but dispose of our shimmering cargo to best
advantage. Harris and I were of that spirit-lifting view; we began on
the very next day to feel about for customers.

Harris, whose former smuggling exploits had dealt solely with gems,
knew as little of silk as did I. Had either been expert we might have
foreseen a coming peril into whose arms we in our blindness all but
walked. No, my children, our troubles were not yet done. We had
escaped the engulfing suck of Charybdis, only to be darted upon by
those six grim mouths of her sister monster, Scylla, over the way.

Well do I recall that morning. I had seen but two possible purchasers
of silks when Harris overtook me. His eye shone with alarm. Lorns had
run him down with the news--however he himself discovered it, I never