Pete Hansen, of the Bulkhead Hotel down on the Embarcadero—­he’s always got a couple of thousand dollars to put into a clean-cut shipping enterprise.  Then there’s Rickey, the ship-builder, and—­yes, even Alcott, the crimp, will take a piece of her.  I’d look in on Louis Wiley, the chronometer man, and Cox, the coppersmith—­why I’d take in every firm and individual who might hope to get business out of the ship; and, you bet, I’d sell ’em all a little block of stock in the S. S. Narcissus Company.”

“It might be done,” Matt answered evasively.  “I’ll think it over.”

He did think it over very seriously the greater portion of that night.  As a result, instead of going to his office next morning he went to Mission Street bulkhead and engaged a launch, and forty minutes later, in response to his hail, the aged watchman aboard the Narcissus came to the rail and asked him what he wanted.

“I want to come aboard!” Matt shouted.

“Got a permit from the office?”

“No.”

“Orders are to allow nobody aboard without a permit.”

“How do you like the color of this permit?” Matt called back, and waved a greenback.

The answer came in the shape of a Jacob’s ladder promptly tossed overside and Matt Peasley mounted the towering hulk of the Narcissus.

“What do you want?” the watchman again demanded as he pouched the bill Matt handed him.

“I want to examine this vessel from bilge to truck,” Matt answered.  “I’ll begin with a look at the winches.”

As he had surmised, the winches had been housed over and fairly buried in grease when the ship laid up; hence they were in absolutely perfect condition.  The engines, too, had received the best of care, as nearly as Matt could judge from a cursory view.  Her cargo space was littered up with a number of grain chutes, which would have to come out; and her boats, which had been stored in the empty hold aft, away from the weather, were in tiptop shape.  She had a spare anchor, plenty of chain, wire cable and Manila lines, though these latter would doubtless have to be renewed in their entirety, owing to deterioration from age.

Her crew quarters were commodious and ample, and the officers’ quarters all that could be desired; her galley equipment was complete, even to a small auxiliary ice plant.  What she needed was cleaning, painting and scraping, and lots of it, also the riggers would be a few days on her standing rigging; but, so far as Matt could discern, that was all.  From the watchman he learned that one Terence Reardon had been her chief engineer in the days when the Oriental Steamship Company first owned her.

From the Narcissus, Matt Peasley returned to the city and went at once to the office of the Marine Engineers’ Association, where he made inquiry for Terence Reardon.  It appeared that Terence was chief of the Arab, loading grain at Port Costa; so to Port Costa Matt Peasley went to interview him.  He found Reardon on deck, enjoying a short pipe and a breath of cool air, and introduced himself.