"You'd best own up. It'll be the better for you. It's bound to come out,
along of the fish. I know it's there. We've had private information up
at the station. The game's up this time, so don't you make no mistake."
Mr. Benenden and the Viking and the boy looked at each other.
"An' what might your precious private information have been about?"
asked Mr. Benenden.
"Brandy," replied the coastguard Stokes, and he went and got on to the
gunwale. "And what's more, I can smell it from here."
Oswald and Dicky drew near, and the refreshment-room smell was stronger
than ever. And a brown corner of the keg was peeping out.
"There you are!" cried the Loathed One. "Let's have that gentleman out,
if you please, and then you'll all just come alonger me."
Remarking, with a shrug of the shoulders, that he supposed it was all
up, our Viking scattered the fish that hid the barrel, and hoisted it
out from its scaly bed.
"That's about the size of it," said the coastguard we did not like.
"Where's the rest?"
"That's all," said Mr. Benenden. "We're poor men, and we has to act
according to our means."
"We'll see the boat clear to her last timber, if you've no objections,"
said the Detestable One.
I could see that our gallant crew were prepared to go through with the
business. More and more of the coastguards were collecting, and I
understood that what the crew wanted was to go up to the coastguard
station with that keg of pretending brandy, and involve the whole of the
coastguards of Longbeach in one complete and perfect sell.
But Dicky was sick of the entire business. He really has not the proper
soul for adventures, and what soul he has had been damped by what he had
gone through.