“ ‘ “But none was recovered, eh?”

“ ‘ “No.”

“ ‘ “Well, where d’ye suppose the balance is?” he asked.

“ ‘ “I have no idea,” said I.

“ ‘ “Right between my finger and thumb,” he cried. “By God! I’ve got more pounds to my name than you’ve hairs on your head. And if you’ve money, my son, and know how to handle it and spread it, you can do anything. Now, you don’t think it likely that a man who could do anything is going to wear his breeches out sitting in the stinking hold of a rat-gutted, beetle-ridden, mouldy old coffin of a China coaster. No, sir, such a man will look after himself and will look after his chums. You may lay to that! You hold on to him, and you may kiss the book that he’ll haul you through.”