He walked up the path to Mr. Chalk’s house with a swagger which the mate endeavoured in vain to imitate.  Mr. Chalk was out, but the captain, learning that he was probably to be found at Dialstone Lane, decided to follow him there rather than first take his tidings to Stobell or Tredgold.  With the idea of putting Mr. Duckett at his ease he talked on various matters as they walked, and, arrived at Dialstone Lane, even stopped to point out the picturesque appearance its old houses made in the moonlight.

“This is where the old pirate who made the map lives,” he whispered, as he reached the door.  “If he’s got anything to say I’ll tackle him about that.  Now, pull yourself together!”

He knocked loudly on the door with his fist.  A murmur of voices stopped suddenly, and, in response to a gruff command from within, he opened the door and stood staring at all three of his victims, who were seated at the table playing whist with Captain Bowers.

The three gentlemen stared back in return.  Tredgold and Chalk had half risen from their seats; Mr. Stobell, with both arms on the table, leaned forward, and regarded him open-mouthed.

“Good evening, gentlemen all,” said Captain Brisket, in a hearty voice.

He stepped forward, and seizing Mr. Chalk’s hand wrung it fervently.

“It’s good for sore eyes to see you again, sir,” he said.  “Look at him, Peter!”

Mr. Duckett, ignoring this reflection on his personal appearance, stepped quietly inside the door, and stood smiling nervously at the company.

“It’s him,” said the staring Mr. Stobell, drawing a deep breath.  “It’s Brisket.”

He pushed his chair back and, rising slowly from the table, confronted him.  Captain Brisket, red-faced and confident, stared up at him composedly.

“It’s Brisket,” said Mr. Stobell again, in a voice of deep content.  “Turn the key in that door, Chalk.”

Mr. Chalk hesitated, but Brisket, stepping to the door, turned the key and, placing it on the table, returned to his place by the side of the mate.  Except for a hard glint in his eye his face still retained its smiling composure.

“And now,” said Stobell, “you and me have got a word or two to say to each other.  I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing your ugly face since—­”

“Since the disaster,” interrupted Tredgold, loudly and hastily.

“Since the——­”

Mr. Stobell suddenly remembered.  For a few moments he stood irresolute, and then, with an extraordinary contortion of visage, dropped into his chair again and sat gazing blankly before him.

“Me and Peter Duckett only landed to-day,” said Brisket,” and we came on to see you by the first train we could—­”

“I know,” said Tredgold, starting up and taking his hand,” and we’re delighted to see you are safe.  And Mr. Duckett?—­”

He found Mr. Duckett’s hand after a little trouble—­the owner seeming to think that he wanted it for some unlawful purpose—­and shook that.  Captain Brisket, considerably taken aback by this performance, gazed at him with suspicion.