Andrews had little to say to me or to Chips.  In fact, he appeared to be satisfied with his lot now that he seemed sure of getting salvage money.  Only Jim, who seemed to have eyes everywhere, distrusted the man, and spoke to me about him.  We had now been on the wreck five days, working and rigging away at the foremast, and the calm, beautiful weather held with no signs of a change.  Jim was hanging over the side, resting his feet on the fore channels while he helped Chips to bolt in a deadeye which had been torn out when the mast had gone.  The sun was warm and shone brilliantly, and Chips sweated and grunted as he pounded away at the iron.  There were no other men in our immediate vicinity, so after pounding away in silence for a quarter of an hour, the carpenter spoke.

“’Tis bloody well we’ve been treated to get no share av the wreck, whin here we are sweatin’ our brains out wid th’ work av refittin’,” said he.

“And what the devil is a few hundred pounds of salvage to me?” growled Jim, hot with his exertion.  “See here, man!  I’ve left ten thousand behind me on the Pirate.”

“And a pious regard fer the truth along wid it,” added Chips, smiting the lug-bolt heavily.

Jim’s face was so serious that I asked what he meant, and with the heat of the work upon him and the absolute hopelessness of ever getting back aboard our ship before his eyes, he spoke out:—­

“Did you ever hear of Jackwell, the fellow who cracked the Bank of Sydney?” he asked.

Chips and I both admitted that we had.  He was the most notorious burglar in the southern hemisphere.

“But what are ye askin’ sich a question fer?” asked Chips.  “What’s burglars got to do wid losin’ salvage?”

“He was aboard the Pirate, and a reward awaits the lucky dog who lands him.  Just a trifle of ten thousand dollars,” said Jim, fiercely.

Chips turned on him.

“Is it sure ‘nuff truth ye’re tellin’, or jest a yarn to soothe our feelin’s?” he demanded.  “I don’t call to mind any gallus-lookin’ chap in th’ watch.”

“He never stood watch, and I wasn’t certain of him until we were out to sea and it was too late.  What d’ye suppose I tried to get Trunnell to go back for?  ’Twas the old man, you stupid wood-splitter.  You don’t think I’m a sailor, do you?”

“‘Pon me sowl, how cud I?  I niver had th’ heart to hurt yer feelings, Jim, me son, or ye’d have heard from me before.  But what are ye, thin?” And Chips leaned back against the rail.

“Nothing but a—­” and Jim opened his coat which he had always worn since coming aboard the Pirate.  On the inside was a silver shield stamped handsomely with the insignia of the detective corps of Melbourne.

“A sea lawyer aboard a derelict.  Ye do fairly well, considerin’.  An’ th’ old man?  You don’t really mean it?”

“What?” I asked; “do you mean that Thompson’s a burglar; and that he’s Jackwell himself?”