God’s truth.  Then he told me a long yarn of two cases outshipped that was lying down at the wharf.  Transshipment goods on a through bill of lading.  And the bill of lading gone a missing in the post.  A long story, all lies, as I ought to have known at the time.  He had a man with him—­forwarding agent, he called him.  This chap couldn’t speak English, but he spoke German, and the other man translated as we went along.  I couldn’t rightly see the other man’s face.  Little, dark man—­with a queer, soft voice, like a woman wheedlin’!  Too d—­d innocent, and I ought to have known it.  Don’t you ever be wheedled by a woman, Mr. Cartoner.  Got a match?”

For the captain’s cigar had gone out.  But he felt quite at home, as he always did—­this unvarnished gentleman from the sea—­and asked for what he wanted.

“Well, to make a long yarn short, I took the cases.  Two of them, size of an orange-box.  We were full, so I had them in the state-room alongside of the locker where I lie down and get a bit of sleep when I feel I want it.  And they paid me well.  It was government stuff, the soft-spoken man said, and the freight would come out of the taxes and never be missed.  We went into heavy weather, and, as luck would have it, one of the cases broke adrift and got smashed.  I mended it myself, and had to open it.  Then I saw that it was explosives.  Lie number one!  It was packed in wadding so as to save a jar.  It was too small for shells.  Besides, no government sends loaded shells about, ’cepting in war time.  At the moment I did not think much about it.  It was heavy weather, and I had a new crew.  There were other things to think about.  And, I tell you, when I got to port, a chap with gold lace on him came aboard and took the stuff away.”

Cartoner’s attention was aroused now.  There was something in this story, after all.  There might be everything in it when the captain told what had brought these past events back to his recollection.

“I’m not going to tell you the port of discharge,” said Captain Cable, “because in doing that I should run foul of other people who acted square by me, and I’ll act square by them.  I’ll tell you one thing, though, I sighted the Scaw light on that voyage.  You can have that bit of information—­you, that’s half a sailor.  You can put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

And he glanced at Cartoner’s cigarette with the satisfaction of a conversationalist who has pulled off a good simile.

“’Safternoon,” he continued, “I went to see some people about a little job for the Minnie.  She’ll be out of dock in a fortnight.  You will not forget to come down and see her?”

“I should like to see her,” said Cartoner.  “Go on with your story.”