“It is all that I know, but I beg you to be careful, for Oily Dave is such a cowardly foe, who only strikes in the dark,” she said earnestly.

“In which case I shall be safest when I keep in the light,” the Englishman answered with a laugh.  “By the way, how did the old fellow earn his title?  Was it given to him because he practically lives on lard?”

“I think it was given to him because he was known to help himself so largely to the fish oils which should have been the property of the fleet,” she replied.  “I did not even know that he was fond of lard, although I have suspected him nearly all winter of having stolen two pails of it from the store one night, when Miles had his back turned for a minute.”

“That accounts for the bill of fare at his hotel then,” Mr. Ferrars said with a laugh.  “I have had nothing but lard and bread, sour heavy bread too, or lard and biscuit, or biscuit without the lard, since I arrived at Seal Cove.  But I think he need not have charged such high prices for the stuff if he stole it!”

“No indeed!” exclaimed Katherine, with a thrill of indignation in her tone.  “But why did you go to such a place?  You would surely have been better off on one of the boats, or Mrs. Jenkin would have made room for you somehow, although her house is very small and fearfully crowded.”

“It was part of the programme, don’t you see?  I came to be on the spot to stop the leakage, and, having given a pretty good guess as to where the leaky spot was, Mr. Selincourt told me to lodge, if possible, in the abode of Oily Dave.”

“But you will not go back?  Mr. Selincourt would not expect it of you,” she said, a swift terror leaping into her eyes.

“No, I shall not reside under the roof of Oily Dave any longer,” he answered.  “But I shall remind him of that locked door, and various other things, some day when it suits me.”

“What are you doing?  Are you going to put it down in a book?” Katherine asked in surprise, as he drew out a pocket-book and began to write.

“Certainly!  You are a woman of business, and must know that it is best to have facts down in black and white,” he answered.  Then, having finished with Oily Dave, he turned to the other side of the same book, and began questioning her about her father’s condition before his seizure, and entering the answers in the same way.

“You think that Father will really rally again?” she asked, with a fear lest his former hopefulness about his patient was merely assumed to cheer Mrs. Burton, who had been plunged in dreadful grief all day.

“I am inclined to believe that he may recover to a certain extent, but I should have a much better idea of his chances if I knew more of his condition beforehand, especially his state of mind.  Your sister says that he had no particular worries, nor anything to induce apprehension or acute anxiety.  Is that your opinion also?”