Dr. Schwaryencrona touched his bell, and they brought him his fur pelisse, his hat, and his cane, and he departed with Mr. Tudor Brown.

Fifteen minutes later they were on board the “Albatross.”

They were received by an old gray-headed seaman, with a rubicund face, whose open countenance betrayed only truth and loyalty.

“Mr. Ward, this gentleman wishes to make some inquiries about the fate of Patrick O’Donoghan,” said Mr. Tudor Brown.

“Patrick O’Donoghan,” answered the old sailor, “God rest his soul.  He gave us trouble enough to pick him up the day he was drowned in the Straits of Madeira.  What is the use of inquiries now that he has gone to feed the fishes?”

“Had you known him for a long time?” asked the doctor.

“The rascal—­no—­for a year or two perhaps.  I believe that it was at Zanzibar that we took him on board—­am I right, Tommy Duff?”

“Is any one hailing me?” asked a young sailor, who was busily employed in polishing a copper bowl.

“Come here,” said the other—­“Was it at Zanzibar that we recruited Patrick O’Donoghan?”

“Patrick O’Donoghan,” repeated the young sailor, as if his remembrance of the man was not very good.  “Oh yes, I remember him.  The man who fell overboard in the Straits of Maderia.  Yes, Mr. Ward, it was at Zanzibar that he came on board.”

Dr. Schwaryencrona made him describe Patrick O’Donoghan, and was convinced that it was the same man whom he was seeking.  Both these men seemed honest and sincere.  They had honest and open countenances.  The uniformity of their answers seemed a little strange, and almost preconcerted; but after all it might be only the natural consequence of relating facts.  Having known Patrick O’Donoghan only a year at the most, they would have but little to say about him, except the fact of his death.

Besides the “Albatross” was a yacht of such large proportions, that if she had been furnished with some cannon she might easily have passed for a man-of-war.  The most rigorous cleanliness was observed on board.  The sailors were in good condition, well clothed, and under perfect discipline.  The general appearance of the vessel insensiby acted upon the doctor, and carried conviction of the truth of the statement which he had just heard.  He therefore declared himself perfectly satisfied, and could not leave without inviting Mr. Tudor Brown to dine with him.  But Mr. Tudor Brown did not think it best to accept this invitation.  He declined it in these courteous terms: 

“No—­I can not—­I never dine in town.”

It now only remained for Dr. Schwaryencrona to retire.  This he did without having obtained even the slightest bow from this strange individual.

The doctor’s first thought was to go and relate his adventure to Mr. Bredejord, who listened to him without saying a word, only promising himself to institute counter inquiries.

But he, with Erik, who had been told the whole story upon his return from school, repaired to the vessel to see if they could elicit any further information, but the “Albatross” had left Stockholm, without leaving word where she was going, and they could not, therefore, obtain even the address of Mr. Tudor Brown.