“Nothing,” said Solomon.  “They’re not mine yet, and it’s their fathers’ business to get ’em back.  Not mine.”

Other subscriptions came pouring in, and it was not long before everybody save Shylock had put his name down for something.  This some one of the more quick-witted of the spirits soon observed, and, with reckless disregard of the feelings of the Merchant of Venice, began to call:  “Shylock!  Shylock!  How much?”

The Merchant tried to leave the pier, but his path was blocked.

“Subscribe, subscribe!” was the cry.  “How much?”

“Order, gentlemen, order!” said Sir Walter, rising and holding a bottle aloft.  “A black person by the name of Friday, a valet of our friend Mr. Crusoe, has just handed me this bottle, which he picked up ten minutes ago on the bank of the river a few miles distant.  It contains a bit of paper, and may perhaps give us a clew based upon something more substantial than even the wonderful theories of our new brother Holmes.”

[Illustration:  A BLACK PERSON BY THE NAME OF FRIDAY FINDS A BOTTLE]

A deathly silence followed the chairman’s words, as Sir Walter drew a cork-screw from his pocket and opened the bottle.  He extracted the paper, and, as he had surmised, it proved to be a message from the missing vessel.  His face brightening with a smile of relief, Sir Walter read, aloud: 

“Have just emerged into the Atlantic.  Club in hands of Kidd and forty ruffians.  One hundred and eighty-three ladies on board.  Headed for the Azores.  Send aid at once.  All well except Xanthippe, who is seasick in the billiard-room. (Signed) Portia.”

“Aha!” cried Hawkshaw.  “That shows how valuable the Holmes theory is.”

“Precisely,” said Holmes.  “No woman knows anything about seafaring, but Portia is right.  The ship is headed for the Azores, which is the first tack needed in a windward sail for London under the present conditions.”

The reply was greeted with cheers, and when they subsided the cry for Shylock’s subscription began again, but he declined.

“I had intended to put up a thousand ducats,” he said, defiantly, “but with that woman Portia on board I won’t give a red obolus!” and with that he wrapped his cloak about him and stalked off into the gathering shadows of the wood.

And so the funds were raised without the aid of Shylock, and the shapely twin-screw steamer the Gehenna was chartered of Charon, and put under the command of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who, after he had thanked the company for their confidence, walked abstractedly away, observing in strictest confidence to himself that he had done well to prepare that bottle beforehand and bribe Crusoe’s man to find it.

“For now,” he said, with a chuckle, “I can get back to earth again free of cost on my own hook, whether my eminent inventor wants me there or not.  I never approved of his killing me off as he did at the very height of my popularity.”