When he came he drove in a close cab from Gravesend Station, and usually
told the cabman when his services would again be required. He came
thus with three friends one summer afternoon, some years ago, and came
without luggage. The servants, who followed in a second cab, carried
some parcels, presumably of refreshments. These grave gentlemen were,
it appeared, about to enjoy a picnic at the Signal House--possibly a
tea-picnic in the Russian fashion.

The afternoon was fine, and the gentlemen walked in the garden at the
back of the house. They were walking thus when another cab stopped at
the closed iron gate, and the banker hurried, as fast as his build would
allow, to open the side door and admit a seafaring man, who seemed to
know his bearings.

"Well, mister," he said, in a Northern voice, "another of your little
jobs?"

The two men shook hands, and the banker paid the cabman. When the
vehicle had gone the host turned to his guest and replied to the
question.

"Yes, my fren'," he said, "another of my little jobs. I hope you are
well, Captain Cable?"

But Captain Cable was not a man to waste words over the social
conventions. He was obviously well--as well as a hard, seafaring life
will make a man who lives simply and works hard. He was a short man,
with a red face washed very clean, and very well shaven, except for a
little piece of beard left fantastically at the base of his chin. His