However, if half the promises of the advertisement were genuine, the chance ought not to be lost for lack of further inquiry.  So I sat down there and then and wrote a letter to the poetically-named Dewy and Moss, asking some questions in detail about the boat, and, in particular, where she was to be seen.

The answer came by return of post.  The boat had been laid up since the autumn in a sheltered creek of the F—­ River, about three-quarters of a mile up from the harbour side, where Messrs. Dewy and Moss transacted business.  The keys lay at their office, and she could be inspected at any time.  Her sails, gear, and movable furniture were stored in a roomy loft at the back of Messrs, Dewy and Moss’s own premises.  Their client was a lady who wished to keep her name concealed—­at any rate during the preliminaries; but they had full power to conduct the sale.  The yacht was a bargain.  The lady wished to be rid of it at once; but they might mention that she would not take a penny less than the quoted price of 400 pounds.  They would be happy to deal with me in that or any other line of business; and they enclosed their card.

The card bore witness to the extraordinary versatility of Messrs. Dewy and Moss, if to nothing else.  Here is the digest of it:—­ “Auctioneers; Practical Valuers; House and Estate Agents; Business Brokers; Ship Brokers; Accountants and Commission Merchants; Servants’ Registry Office; Fire, Life, Accident, and Plate Glass Insurance Effected; Fire Claims prepared and adjusted; Live Stock Insured; Agents for Gibson’s Non-Slipping Cycles; Agents for Packington’s Manures, the best and cheapest for all crops; Valuations for Probate; Emigration Agents; Private Arrangements negotiated with Creditors; Old Violins cleaned and repaired; Vice-Consulate for Norway and Sweden.”

I cannot say this card produced quite the impression which its composers no doubt desired.  It seemed to me that Messrs. Dewy and Moss had altogether too many strings to their bow.  And the railway journey to F—­ was a long one.  So I hesitated for two days; and on the late afternoon of the third found myself some three hundred miles from home, standing in a windy street full of the blown odours of shipping, and pulling at a bell which sounded with terrifying alacrity just on the other side of the door.  A window was thrown up, right above me, and a head appeared (of Dewy, as it turned out), and invited me to come upstairs.

Mr. Dewy met me on the landing, introduced himself, and led me into his office, where a fat young woman sat awkwardly upon a wooden chair several inches too high for her.  Hastily reviewing the many professional capacities in which Mr. Dewy could serve her, I decided that she must be a cook in search of a place.  The agent gave me the only other chair in the room—­it was clear that in their various feats of commercial dexterity the firm depended very little upon furniture—­ and balanced himself on the edge of his knee-hole table.  He was a little, round man, and his feet dangled three inches from the floor.  He looked honest enough, and spoke straightforwardly.