“I cannot believe, however,” said Tom stoutly, “that Mr. Girdlestone connives at such things.”

“He’s on the waitin’ lay,” the seaman answered.  “He doesn’t send ’em down, but he just hangs on, and keeps his insurances up, and trusts in Providence.  He’s had some good hauls that way, though not o’ late.  There was the Belinda at Cape Palmas.  That was five thousand, clear, if it was a penny.  And the Sockatoo—­that was a bad business!  She was never heard of, nor her crew.  Went down at sea, and left no trace.”

“The crew too!” Tom cried with horror.  “But how about yourselves, if what you say is true?”

“We are paid for the risk,” said both the seamen, shrugging their shoulders.

“But there are Government inspectors?”

“Ha! ha!  I dare say you’ve seen the way some o’ them do their work!” said Miggs.

Tom’s mind was filled with consternation at what he had heard.  If the African merchant were capable of this, what might he not be capable of?  Was his word to be depended on under any circumstances?  And what sort of firm must this be, which turned so fair a side to the world and in which he had embarked his fortune?  All these thoughts flashed through his mind as he listened to the gossip of the garrulous old sea dogs.  A greater shock still, however, was in store for him.

Von Baumser had been listening to the conversation with an amused look upon his good-humoured face.  “Ah!” said he, suddenly striking in, “I vill tell you something of your own firm which perhaps you do not know.  Have you heard dat Mr. Ezra Girdlestone is about to be married?”

“To be married!”

“Oh yes; I have heard It dis morning at Eckermann’s office.  I think it is the talk of the City.”

“Who’s the gal?” Miggs asked, with languid interest.

“I disremember her name,” Von Baumser answered.  “It is a girl the major has met—­the young lady who has lived in the same house, and is vat they call a warder.”

“Not—­not his ward?” cried Tom, springing to his feet and turning as white as a sheet.  “Not Miss Harston?  You don’t tell me that he is going to marry Miss Harston?”

“Dat is the name.  Miss Harston it is, sure enough.”

“It is a lie—­an infamous lie!” Tom cried hotly.

“So it may be,” Von Baumser answered serenely.  “I do but say vat I have heard, and heard more than once on good authority.”

“If it is true there is villainy in it,” cried Tom, with wild eyes, “the blackest villainy that ever was done upon earth.  I’ll go—­I’ll see him to-night.  By heavens, I shall know the truth!” He rushed furiously downstairs and through the bar.  There was a cab near the door.  “Drive into London!” he cried; “69, Eccleston Square.  I am on fire to be there!” The cabman sprang on the box, and they rattled away as fast as the horse would go.

This sudden exit caused, as may be imagined, considerable surprise in the parlour of the Cock and Cowslip.