Mr. Smith shook his head.  “You’ll offend the cap’n bitter if you go to the police about ’im, sir,” he declared.  “His last words to me was, ’Smith, ‘ave this kept quiet.’”

“It’ll be a little job for the police,” urged the shipbroker.  “They don’t have much to do down here; they’ll be as pleased as possible.”

“They’ll worry your life out of you, sir,” said the other.  “You don’t know what they are.”

“I like a little excitement,” returned Mr. Swann.  “I don’t suppose they’ll trouble me much, but they’ll turn your place topsy-turvy, I expect.  Still, that can’t be helped.  You know what fools the police are; they’ll think you’ve murdered the captain and hidden his body under the boards.  They’ll have all the floors up.  Ha, ha, ha!”

“’Aving floors up don’t seem to me to be so amusing as wot it does to you,” remarked Mr. Smith, coldly.

“They may find all sorts of treasure for you,” continued his visitor.  “It’s a very old house, Smith, and there may be bags of guineas hidden away under the flooring.  You may be able to retire.”

“You’re a gentleman as is fond of his joke, Mr. Swann,” returned the boarding-master, lugubriously.  “I wish I’d got that ’appy way of looking at things you ’ave.”

“I’m not joking, Smith,” said the other, quietly.

Mr. Smith pondered and, stealing a side-glance at him, stood scraping his foot along the floor.

“There ain’t nothing much to tell,” he grumbled, “and, mind, the worst favour you could do to the cap’n would be to put it about how he was done.  He’s gone for a little trip instead of ’is son, that’s all.”

“Little trip!” repeated the other; “you call a whaling cruise a little trip?”

“No, no, sir,” said Mr. Smith, in a shocked voice, “I ain’t so bad as that; I’ve got some ’art, I hope.  He’s just gone for a little trip with ’is old pal Hardy on the Conqueror.  Kybird’s idea it was.”

“Don’t you know it’s punishable?” demanded the shipbroker, recovering.

Mr. Smith shook his head and became serious.  “The cap’n fell into ’is own trap,” he said, slowly.  “There’s no lor for ’im!  He’d only get laughed at.  The idea of trying to get me to put little Amelia Kybird’s young man away.  Why, I was ’er god-father.”

Mr. Swann stared at him, and then with a friendly “good morning” departed.  Half-way along the passage he stopped, and retracing his steps produced his cigar-case and offered the astonished boarding-master a cigar.

“I s’pose,” said that gentleman as he watched the other’s retreating figure and dubiously smelt the cigar; “I s’pose it’s all right; but he’s a larky sort, and I ’ave heard of ’em exploding.  I’ll give it to Kybird, in case.”

[Illustration:  “I ’ave heard of ’em exploding.”]

To Mr. Smith’s great surprise his visitor sat down suddenly and began to laugh.  Tears of honest mirth suffused his eyes and dimmed his glasses.  Mr. Smith, regarding him with an air of kindly interest, began to laugh to keep him company.