“My friend, Hylton Chater—­Mr. Gordon Gregg,” he said, introducing us, and then when, as we shook hands, the clean-shaven man exclaimed, smiling pleasantly—­

“Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gregg.  You are not a stranger by any means to Hornby or myself.  Indeed, we’ve got a couple of your books on board.  But I had no idea you lived out here.”

“At Ardenza,” I said.  “Three miles along the sea-shore.  To-morrow I hope you’ll both come and dine with me.”

“Delighted, I’m sure,” declared Hornby.  “To eat ashore is quite a treat when one has been boxed up on board for some time.  So we’ll accept, won’t we, Hylton?”

“Certainly,” replied the other; and then we began chatting about the peril of the previous night, Hornby telling me how he had copied the two letters of thanks in Italian and sent them to their respective addresses.

“Phil blasphemed like a Levant skipper when he copied those Italian words!” laughed Chater.  “He had made three copies of each letter before he could get all the lingo in accordance with your copy.”

“I’ve been the whole afternoon at them—­confound them!” declared the owner of the Lola with a laugh.  “But, of course, I didn’t want to make a lot of errors in spelling.  These Italians are so very punctilious.”

“Well, you certainly did the right thing to thank the Admiral,” I said.  “It’s very unusual for him to send out torpedo-boats to help a vessel in distress.  That is generally left to the harbor tug.”

“Yes, I feel that it was most kind of him.  That’s why I took all the trouble to write.  I don’t understand a word of Italian, neither does Chater.”

“But you have Italians on board?” I remarked.  “The two sailors who rowed me out are Genoese, from their accent.”

Hornby and Chater exchanged glances—­glances of distinct uneasiness, I thought.

Then the owner of the Lola said—­

“Yes, they are useful for making arrangements and buying things in Italian ports.  We have a Spaniard, a Greek, and a Syrian, all of whom act as interpreters in different places.”

“And make a handsome thing in the way of secret commissions, I suppose?” I laughed.

“Of course.  But to cruise in comfort one must pay and be pleasant,” declared the man with the fair beard.  “In Greece and the Levant they are more rapacious than in Naples, and the Customs officers always want squaring, otherwise they are for ever rummaging and discovering mares’ nests.”

“Did you have any trouble here?” I inquired.

“They didn’t visit us,” he said with a smile, and at the same time he rubbed his thumb and finger together, the action of feeling paper money.

This increased my surprise, for I happened to know that the Leghorn Customs officers were not at all given to the acceptance of bribes.  They were too well watched by their superiors.  If the yacht had really escaped a search, then it was a most unusual thing.  Besides, what motive could Hornby have in eluding the Customs visit?  They would, of course, seal up his wines and liquors, but even if they did, they would leave him out sufficient for the consumption of himself and his friends.