Meanwhile, old Tom had been busy with breakfast, and soon the smells of coffee and freshly made “johnny-cake” and frying bacon competed not unsuccessfully with the various fragrances of the morning.  Is there anything to match for zest a breakfast like that of ours at dawn on the open sea?

Breakfast over, Charlie filled his pipe, assuming, as he did so, a judicial aspect.  I filled mine, and our young friend followed suit by taking a silver cigarette-case from his pocket, and striking a match on the leg of his khaki knickerbockers with a professional air.

“All set?” asked Charlie, and, after a slight pause, he went on: 

“Now, young man, you can see we are nearing the end of the island.  Another half-mile will bring us to West End.  Whether we put you ashore there, or take you along, depends on your answers to my questions.”

“Fire away,” answered the youth, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke in a delicate spiral up into the morning sky; “but I’ve really told you all I have to tell.”

“No; you haven’t told us how you came to know of our trip, what we were supposed to be after, and when we were starting.”

“That’s true!” flushed the lad, momentarily losing his composure.  Then, partly regaining it:  “Is it necessary to answer that question?”

“Absolutely,” answered Charlie, beginning to look really serious.

“Because, if you don’t mind ... well, I’d just as soon not.”

The boy’s cheeks were burning with confusion, and he looked more than ever like a girl.

“For that very reason, I want to know.  We are out on a more serious business than perhaps you realise, and your answer may mean more to us than you think.”

“I’m sure it cannot be of such importance to you.  Really it’s nothing—­a mere accident; and, besides, it’s hardly fair for me to tell.  I should have to give away a friend, and that, I’m sure you’ll agree, is not cricket.”

The boy had such a true innocent air, not to speak of his taking ways which had already quite won my heart, that I protested with Charlie on his behalf.  But Charlie was adamant.  He’d got Tobias so on the brain that there was no reasoning with him, and the very innocent air of the lad seemed to have deepened his suspicions.

“I’m sorry, but I shall have to insist,” replied Charlie, looking very grim, and more and more like an Elizabethan sea-rover.

“All right, then,” answered the youth, looking him straight in the eyes, “put me ashore.”

“No; I won’t do that now, either,” declared Charlie, sternly setting his jaw.  “I’ll put you in irons, rather—­and keep you on bread and water—­till you answer my questions.”

“You will, eh?” retorted the youth, flashing fire from his fine eyes.  And as he spoke, quick as thought, he leaped up on to the gunwale, and, without hesitation, dived into the great glassy rollers.

But Charlie was quick too.  Like a flash, he grabbed one of the boy’s ankles, so that the beautiful dive was spoiled; and there was the boy, hanging by an imprisoned leg over the ship’s side, a helpless captive—­his arms in the water and his leg struggling vainly to get free.  But he might as well have struggled against the grip of Hercules.  In another moment Charlie had him hauled aboard again, his eyes full of tears of boyish rage and humiliation.