kill?"

Mr. Solomon started uneasily and edged towards the window as though to be in readiness to call for help if necessary.

"But there aren't many enemy ships to capture now," he protested in a feeble voice. "They have all been driven off the seas."

"I'll wager there are enough ships left to pay a healthy dividend on your capital, Solomon. Besides, if the supply does run short we're not dainty and——" He concluded his sentence with a grimly significant laugh.

For some moments there was silence, broken only by the Captain's puffing as he exhaled cloud after cloud of fierce tobacco-smoke. Mr. Solomon's expressive countenance was again exhibiting signs of deep mental agitation, and his brow was wrinkled by a perplexed frown. Suddenly this cleared away and into his shifty eyes there came the triumphant look of one who has unexpectedly found the solution to a seemingly impossible problem. The change was so marked that Calamity regarded him with undisguised suspicion, for when Solomon looked like that it generally meant that somebody was going to be made wise by experience.

"I vill dink it over," he said at last.

A bland smile came over Calamity's face. He had not had intimate business relations with his companion during the past ten years for nothing, and knew that this was mere bluff, a sort of playful coquettishness on Mr. Solomon's part. But he, also, was an old hand at this game as his next remark proved.

"Please yourself," he answered indifferently, rising as if to go. "You think it over as you say, and in the meantime I'll trip over to Johore and see your pal Rossenbaum. He may be glad of the chance to——"

"Vait a minute! Vait a minute!" interrupted Mr. Solomon, starting to his feet. "Vat you in such a 'urry for?"

In moments of excitement he was apt to drop the h's which at other times he assiduously cultivated.

"Well, you don't suppose I'm going to hang about Singapore and get drunk on the local aperients while you make up your mind, do you?" inquired Calamity.

"Now just you sit down, Captain, and ve'll talk the matter over," said Mr. Solomon in a mollifying tone. "Make yourself at home now."

With an appearance of great reluctance, Captain Calamity reseated himself and took another big, rank cigar from the box on the table.

"Go ahead," he said laconically as he lit the poisonous weed.

"Vat I propose," began Mr. Solomon, "is that you give me a bond...."

He continued for over half an hour to state his conditions, Calamity never once interrupting him. When he had got through the Captain threw the stump of his third cigar out of the window and drew his chair closer to the table.

"Now you've used up your steam, and, I hope, feel better, we'll talk business," he said in a cool, determined voice.

Two hours elapsed before Captain Calamity rose to his feet and prepared for departure. It had been a tremendous battle, for Mr. Solomon's demands had continued to be outrageous and he had resisted every reduction tooth and nail. But they had at last come to an agreement, though, even so, each felt that he was conceding far too much to the other. The main points were, that Isaac Solomon was to procure a ship and fit her out; that the profits of each privateering expedition were to be divided into four equal shares, of which the partners each took one. The remaining two shares were to be used for refitting, victualling, bonuses for the crew, wages, and so forth. Mr. Solomon's connection with the venture was to be kept secret from every one but his partner, for, with a modesty that had its root in wisdom, the ship-chandler avoided publicity as much as possible.

"I suppose you're going to wet the contract?" remarked Calamity as he picked up his hat.

Mr. Solomon affected not to understand.

"Vet it?" he inquired innocently.

"Yes, drink to the prosperity of the venture, partner."

With no great show of alacrity, Mr. Solomon crossed to a cupboard and was about to bring out a bottle of red wine, when Calamity stopped him.

"Damn you!" he cried. "I'm not going to drink that purple purgative; save it for your fellow Sheenies. Come, out with that bottle of rum, you old skinflint!"

Mr. Solomon made a chuckling noise in his throat, and, replacing the red fluid, brought forth a square bottle and two glasses. He was about to dole out a modest measure, when Calamity took the bottle from him and more than half filled one of the glasses.

"Now help yourself, partner," he said, handing back the bottle.

The other carefully poured out about a teaspoonful of the spirit, deluged it with water, and then held up his glass.

"Long life and success to Calamity and Co!" cried the Captain, and tossed off the raw spirit with no more ado than if it had been milk.

"Calamity and Co!" echoed Mr. Solomon in a thin, shrill voice.

CHAPTER II

THE DEPARTURE OF THE "HAWK"

Captain Calamity appeared to be one of those men who, for various reasons and often through force of circumstances, have drifted into the backwaters of civilisation to a life of semi-barbarism. Men of this sort are to be found all over the New World, but more particularly in the luxuriant islands of the South Pacific, where life can be maintained with a minimum of effort. Some are mere beachcombers, derelicts for whom the striving, battling world has no further use. Some are just "remittance men," social outcasts, bribed to remain at a safe distance from their more respectable relatives.

A few, a very few, are men obsessed by a spirit of adventure; men who can find no scope for their superabundant energy and vitality in the overcrowded, over-civilised cities of the world. Of such as these was Captain Calamity. Yet his past was as much a mystery to those who knew him as was the origin of the suggestive name by which he was known throughout the Pacific. No one—until to-day, not even Isaac Solomon—had the slightest inkling of his real name. And, as might be expected under such circumstances, various stories, each more incredible than the last, were current among the islands concerning him. Still, the one most generally believed, no doubt because it sounded romantic, described him as an ostracised member of an aristocratic English family upon whom he had in earlier years brought disgrace.

But, whatever the truth might be, Calamity never by any chance referred to his past, and, as to the stories concerning himself, he did not take the trouble to deny or confirm them.

For some days after his interview with Mr. Solomon Calamity was busily engaged in collecting a crew—a crew which, as the Hawk was to be a fighting ship, would have to consist of about thrice the number which she would have carried as a merchantman. So far as deck-hands and firemen were concerned this was fairly easy, but when it came to finding officers and engineers the task proved much more difficult. Men of this class, who, for some reason or other, found themselves adrift in Singapore without a ship, fought shy of the notorious skipper. They believed—and probably with very good reason—that to sail under him would ruin all prospects of getting a job with a reputable firm again. So, while willing enough to absorb "pegs" at the Captain's expense, they politely declined his offers of a berth on the Hawk.

Eventually, he ran across an engineer who had made several voyages with him on trading and pearling expeditions; one Phineas McPhulach, a little, red-haired Scotsman with no professional prospects, but an unlimited capacity for death-dealing drinks. McPhulach, being in his customary state of "down and out," and having no future that necessitated consideration, eagerly accepted the berth of chief-engineer which Calamity offered him. Moreover, he was able to introduce a companion in misfortune named Ephraim Dykes. Mr. Dykes was a lean, lanky individual, with a cast in one eye, and an accent that proclaimed him a