No; the minds on the “front” were not competent for that sort of investigation, but many hands there—­brown hands, yellow hands, white hands—­were raised to shade the eyes gazing out to sea.  The rumour spread quickly.  Chinese shopkeepers came to their doors, more than one white merchant, even, rose from his desk to go to the window.  After all, a ship on Tamissa was not an everyday occurrence.  And presently the rumour took a more definite shape.  An English trader—­detained on suspicion at sea by the Neptun—­ Heemskirk was towing him in to test a case, and by some strange accident—­

Later on the name came out.  “The Bonito—­what!  Impossible!  Yes—­ yes, the Bonito.  Look!  You can see from here; only two masts.  It’s a brig.  Didn’t think that man would ever let himself be caught.  Heemskirk’s pretty smart, too.  They say she’s fitted out in her cabin like a gentleman’s yacht.  That Allen is a sort of gentleman too.  An extravagant beggar.”

A young man entered smartly Messrs. Mesman Brothers’ office on the “front,” bubbling with some further information.

“Oh, yes; that’s the Bonito for certain!  But you don’t know the story I’ve heard just now.  The fellow must have been feeding that river with firearms for the last year or two.  Well, it seems he has grown so reckless from long impunity that he has actually dared to sell the very ship’s rifles this time.  It’s a fact.  The rifles are not on board.  What impudence!  Only, he didn’t know that there was one of our warships on the coast.  But those Englishmen are so impudent that perhaps he thought that nothing would be done to him for it.  Our courts do let off these fellows too often, on some miserable excuse or other.  But, at any rate, there’s an end of the famous Bonito.  I have just heard in the harbour-office that she must have gone on at the very top of high-water; and she is in ballast, too.  No human power, they think, can move her from where she is.  I only hope it is so.  It would be fine to have the notorious Bonito stuck up there as a warning to others.”

Mr. J. Mesman, a colonial-born Dutchman, a kind, paternal old fellow, with a clean-shaven, quiet, handsome fade, and a head of fine iron-grey hair curling a little on his collar, did not say a word in defence of Jasper and the Bonito.  He rose from his arm-chair suddenly.  His face was visibly troubled.  It had so happened that once, from a business talk of ways and means, island trade, money matters, and so on, Jasper had been led to open himself to him on the subject of Freya; and the excellent man, who had known old Nelson years before and even remembered something of Freya, was much astonished and amused by the unfolding of the tale.

“Well, well, well!  Nelson!  Yes; of course.  A very honest sort of man.  And a little child with very fair hair.  Oh, yes!  I have a distinct recollection.  And so she has grown into such a fine girl, so very determined, so very—­” And he laughed almost boisterously.  “Mind, when you have happily eloped with your future wife, Captain Allen, you must come along this way, and we shall welcome her here.  A little fair-headed child!  I remember.  I remember.”