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Mostyn lit a cigar, and, thrusting his hands into his pockets, regarded the scene before him with genial meditation the creamy wash of the sea at their feet, the surface of the water like corrugated silver stretching to the farther sky, with that long lane of golden light crossing it to the sun, Alcatras, Angel Island, Saucilito, the rocky fortresses, and the men-of-war in the harbour, on one of which flew the British ensign the Cormorant, commanded by Debney.

He simply choked, and then, before the whole ship, dropped both hands on his shoulders, and said: 'Debney, you're a damned good fellow and a damned bad officer, and I wish to God you were a damned bad fellow and a damned good officer for then there were no need to part. At that they parted.

They had been children in the one mother's arms; there was nothing in common between them now except that ancient love. Nearing the Farilones, Captain Debney was put off in an open boat. Standing there alone, he was once more a naval officer, and he called out sternly: "Sir, I hope to sink you and your smuggling craft within four-and-twenty hours!"

"What was it made you think you had come across him at Singapore?" "Oh, certain significant things." "What was he doing?" Debney looked at his old friend for a moment debatingly, then said quietly: "Slave-dealing, and doing it successfully, under the noses of men-of-war of all nations." "But you decided it was not he after all?" "I doubted. If Ted came to that, he would do it in a very big way.