When Grey climbed up on the deck of The Secret, he stood for several minutes, stroking his head with his hand from back to front in a gesture of confusion, an absent-minded smile on his face. His mate, Panten, at this moment appeared on the quarter-deck with a plateful of fried fish. When he saw Grey he immediately noticed the captain's odd behavior.
"Are you hurt?" he asked cautiously. "Where have you been? Well, that, after all, is none of my business. There's an agent who's offering us profitable freight plus a bonus. What is wrong with you?"
"Thank you," said Grey, with a sigh of relief, like one who had just been freed. "The practical sound of your voice was just what I needed. It was like cold water. Panten, tell the men we are going to raise anchor today and move into the mouth of the Liliana, ten miles away. The channel is full of sandbars. We can enter it only from the sea. Come to my cabin and get the chart. We will not take on a pilot. For the time being, that is all. . . . Oh, yes-freight I need Just as much as last year's snow. Tell that to the agent. I'm going off to town and won't be back till evening."
"What's happened?"
"Absolutely nothing, Panten. And for your own information, I don't want to be questioned. When the time comes, I'll tell you what it's all about. Simply tell the men we need repairs and that the local drydock is occupied."
"Very well," said Panten doubtfully to Grey's departing back. "Your orders will be carried out."
Though the captain's orders were fully intelligible, the mate, wide-eyed with surprise, dashed into his cabin, plate in hand, muttering, "Panten, there's a riddle for you. Maybe he wants to try smuggling? Are we going to run up the Jolly Roger?" And Panten embarked on the wildest speculations.
Grey went down to his cabin, got some money, and returned across the bay to Lisse, where he soon appeared in the town's shopping district. He was now acting with determination and calm, having worked out his plan to the smallest detail. Each movement, thought, action, warmed him with delight.

Grey visited three shops, intent on getting precisely what he wanted, having already seen in his mind's eye the exact color he desired. In the first two shops he was shown cheap silks in gaudy shades intended to satisfy primitive tastes. In the third he found samples of better quality. The shopkeeper bustled about, glad to bring out materials that had for long lain unsold. Grey was as serious as an anatomist. Patiently he went through bolt after bolt, set some aside, pushed others away, unwound and examined in daylight such a multitude of lengths of scarlet silk that the shop looked as if it were on fire. Over the toe of Grey's boot lay a wave of purple. His hands and face glowed with a rosy reflection. Playing with the folds of lightly resistant silk, he studied the various shades: red, pale and dark rose; thick bursts of cherry, orange, and dark chestnut tones; shades of all strengths and subtleties. But for a long time the captain could not find the true scarlet he sought. What the shopkeeper brought him was adequate, but none of it called forth that unequivocal "yes."
At last a silk was brought out that immediately attracted the customer. He sat down in an armchair at the window, pulled a long length from the noisy silk, tossed it across his legs, and sat back, pipe in his mouth, in motionless contemplation. A completely pure color, like a scarlet ray of morning, full of noble joy and royalty, it was exactly the proud color for which Grey had been searching. In it were no mingled shades of fire, poppy petals, no play of violet or lilac, no tinge of dark blue, nor any show of a tone that raised his doubt. It glowed like a smile. Grey became so lost in thought that he forgot the shopkeeper, who was waiting as tensely as a hunting dog at point. Tired of waiting, the tradesman reminded Grey of his presence by tearing off a piece of material.
"I've seen enough samples," said Grey, getting up. "I will take this silk."
"The whole piece?" the tradesman asked in a respectfully dubious voice. But Grey looked him silently in the forehead. The shopkeeper, becoming a little less polite, insisted, "How many yards, please?"
Grey motioned him to wait a moment, got out his pencil, and calculated what he needed. "Two thousand yards," he said, inspecting the shelves doubtfully. "Yes, indeed, no more than two thousand yards."
"Two?" said the storekeeper, jumping convulsively like a spring. "Two thousand? Yards? I beg you to sit down. Captain. Wouldn't you care to look at samples of newer materials? Whatever you like. Here is some excellent tobacco. Here are some matches. Please! Two thousand, two thousand, at . . ." And he named a price which had as much relationship to the real price as an oath does to a simple "yes." But Grey was satisfied. He had no intention of haggling. "It's beautiful, the very best silk," continued the shopkeeper. "There's no better to be had anywhere. You can find it only here."
When at long last the merchant's praise had exhausted itself. Grey arranged for the delivery of the material, agreeing to pay the cost himself. He settled the bill and left, escorted to the door by a bowing, scraping storekeeper.
At that moment, across the street from the shop, an itinerant musician, having tuned up his cello, was making his strings speak out sadly and beautifully. His comrade, with a flute, added a throaty whistling to the singing of the cello. Grey heard the simple song which filled the hot, sleepy courtyard, and he knew immediately what he should do next. He made his way to the courtyard from which the music came. The tall flute player, with an appearance of downtrodden dignity was gratefully waving with his hat at those windows from which coins had been thrown. The cello had already been tucked beneath the arm of its owner who, wiping his perspiring forehead, was waiting for his comrade.
"Hello! Why, it's you, Zimmer!" Grey said to the cellist, recognizing him as the same person who entertained sailors with his fine fiddling at the Money on the Barrel Head Tavern. "How does it happen that you've given up the violin?"
"Most worthy captain," Zimmer explained with a self-satisfied expression. "I play everything that sounds and rattles. I was a musical clown once, when I was a lot younger. Now I have a yen for art, but I see, to my grief, that I've spoiled my unusual gift. Therefore out of belated pity for myself I have two loves- the cello and the violin. I play the cello in the daytime and the fiddle in the evenings. In other words, I weep and I sob over my lost talent. How about treating us to a bit of wine, eh? The cello, that's my Carmen, and the fiddle . . ."
"Is Asole," said Grey.
Zimmer misunderstood him.
"Yes," he nodded. "A solo on the cymbals or on brass trumpets-that's something very different. Anyway, what's it to me! Let the Pa-gliaccis take on airs. I know that magic exists in the violin and the cello."
"And what about my 'tur-lyur-lyu,'" demanded the flutist, a great big fellow with light blue sheep's eyes and a fair beard.
"It all depends on how much you drank in the morning. Sometimes there's a canary there and sometimes just wine fumes. Captain, this is my friend. Douce. I've already told him how you squander money when you drink, and he's loved you without ever even having seen you."
"Yes," said Douce. "I love generosity. But I'm shrewd. Don't believe my repulsive flattery."
"Listen," said Grey chuckling, "I have no time to waste and it's an urgent matter. I'll give you a chance to earn some good money. Get me an orchestra. But not one consisting of fancy dandies with the solemn faces of corpses who, in musical hairsplitting and gastronomy of sound, lose the soul of the music. Get me some of your own lads who can make the simple hearts of cooks and house servants weep. Gather your beggars together. The sea and love don't tolerate pedants. I would be delighted to sit down with you, and with more than one bottle in front of us, but I must go. There is a piece of business which I have to get out of the way. Take this and drink to the letter A. And if you agree to my proposal, come out to The Secret this evening. She's anchored not far from the breakwater at the head of the bay."
"Agreed!" shouted Zimmer, knowing that Grey paid like a king. "Douce, bow down, say Yes, and doff your hat. Captain Grey is getting married!"
"Yes," said Grey, simply. "I'll tell you all the details when you're aboard The Secret. You're..."
"To the letter A!" Douce winked at Grey, jostling Zimmer's elbow. "But-there are so many letters in the alphabet! How about something for Y?"
Grey handed over some more money. The musicians left. Then he went into a brokerage office and gave confidential instructions for a large sum to be delivered to him within six days. At the same time that Grey was returning to his own ship, the broker's representative was boarding an ocean steamer. By evening the silk had been delivered to The Secret. Five sailmakers, hired by Grey, had berthed in with the sailors. Letika had not yet returned, nor had the musicians arrived. While waiting for them, Grey went off to chat with Panten.
It should be noted that Grey had had the same crew for several years. At first the captain had surprised his sailors with his caprices, his unexpected Journeys and stops-sometimes lasting for months-in the most unmercantile and unpopulated places. But gradually they had gotten used to the "Greyism" of Grey. He often sailed with ballast alone, having refused to take profitable freight, for the sole reason that he disliked the goods offered. No one could persuade him to carry soap, nails, machine parts, and other merchandise that lay in the murky silence of the hold, breathing forth an atmosphere of tedious necessity. On the other hand, he was always willing to load fruits, porcelain, livestock and other animals, spices, tea, tobacco, coffee, silk, and valuable species of trees such as sandalwood, ebony, and palm. All of these things satisfied his imagination and helped create a colorful atmosphere. It was not surprising that the crew of The Secret, having been indoctrinated in this spirit, looked somewhat condescendingly on other vessels which to them seemed enveloped in the fog of trivial gain. Nevertheless, this time Grey encountered questioning faces. Even the most stupid of his sailors knew that there was not the slightest need to carry out repairs in the mouth of a forest river.
Panten, of course, had reported Grey's orders. When Grey returned, his mate, smoking his sixth cigar, was pacing back and forth in the cabin, a bit groggy from the thick smoke and bumping into chairs. The evening had come. A golden beam penetrated through the ocean porthole and caught the shiny tip of the captain's service cap in its light.
"Everything is ready," said Panten gloomily. "If you wish, we can raise anchor."
"You ought to know me a bit better, Panten," Grey commented softly. "There is no mystery about what I'm doing. Just as soon as we drop anchor in the Liliana, I will tell you everything and then you won't have to waste so many matches on cheap cigars. Go ahead, lift anchor."
Panten, laughing awkwardly, scratched his brow.
"That's the way it is, of course," he said. "Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, it's all right."
When he departed. Grey sat for a while without moving, watching the half-opened door. Finally he went to his own cabin, where he alternately sat or lay down, listening to the creak of the windlass winding up the noisy chain. He started to go out to the forecastle but stopped midway and went back to his table, where in a gesture of thoughtfulness, he drew a line down its oilskin cloth with his finger, A blow of a fist on his door roused him from his trance. He turned the key and Letika came in. The sailor, breathing heavily, looked like a messenger who had arrived just in time to avoid being executed.
"Tly fast, Letika; I said to myself," he blurted out, "as soon as I saw from the cable pier how our lads were dancing around the windlass and spitting on their hands. I have eyes like an eagle. And I really flew. I breathed so hard down the boatman's neck that he was in a sweat from excitement. Captain-were you going to leave me stranded ashore?"
"Letika," said Grey, peering at his red eyes, "I was expecting you no later than this morning. Have you poured cold water on the back of your neck?"
"Yes-not so much as I took internally, but I poured some. Everything has been done as you asked."
"Tell me about it."
"No point in telling about it. Captain. I've written everything down right here. Take it and read it. I worked very hard at this. I'm going outside."
"Where?"
"I see by the reproach in your eyes that I'd better pour a lot more cold water on the back of my neck."
He turned and went out with the stumbling motions of a blind man. Grey unrolled the paper. Here is what Letika had written, in a scrawl that resembled a tumbledown fence:"According to instruction! After five o'clock I walked along the street. A house with a gray roof with two windows on the side. A vegetable garden next to it. The designated female came out twice: for water, once, for kindling for the stove, second. When darkness came I strained my eyes to get a look into the window, but saw nothing because of a curtain."
There followed some notes on family matters which Letika had evidently collected from talk at the inn, since his memorandum concluded somewhat unexpectedly with the words: "On account of expenses I used a little bit of my own."
The essence of his report added nothing, however, to what we already know. Grey put the paper into his desk, whistled for the officer of the watch, and sent for Panten. But the boatswain, Atwood, put in an appearance instead, pulling at his rolled-up sleeves.
"We've cast off at the breakwater," he said. "Panten sent me to find out what you want. He's busy because some people with drums, fiddles, and horns are arguing with him. Did you invite them aboard The Secret? Panten wants you to come and speak to them. His head is spinning."
"Yes, Atwood," said Grey. "I did invite the musicians aboard. Tell them to go to the crew's quarters for now. We'll see later on where to put them up. And, Atwood, tell them and the crew that I'll be on deck in fifteen minutes. Get them together. You and Panten be there too."
Atwood, raising his left brow, sidled out of the door. Grey spent ten minutes with his hands over his face, gathering his thoughts. Meanwhile, all on the ship awaited him, full of curiosity and impatient conjecture. When he appeared, he saw in their faces the expectation of something fantastic. Since to him what was taking place seemed quite natural, he felt a slight disappointment in the tension of the others.
"There is nothing special," Grey said, seating himself on the companionway bridge. "We will remain here in the mouth of the river until we have changed all our rigging. You have seen that red silk has been shipped aboard. From it, under the direction of master sailmaker Blant, new sails are to be made for The Secret. Then we will sail-where, I will not yet say. In any case, it won't be far. I am going to my wife. That is, she is not yet my wife, but she will be. I need scarlet sails so that she will see me from afar, as has been promised her. You can see there's no mystery here. That will be all."
"Yes," said Atwood, seeing from the smiling faces of the sailors that they were pleasantly puzzled, yet too shy to ask questions. "So that's what it's all about. Captain. Not our place to Judge such matters. As you want it, that's the way it'll be. I congratulate you."
"Thank you."
Grey pressed the hand of the boatswain, who in turn pressed the captain's with such strength that he gave in. Then all the rest of the crew came up, one after another, with shy warmth in their eyes and muttered congratulations. No one shouted or was unruly. The sailors had seen something not entirely ordinary in the words of the captain. Panten sighed with relief and Grey became gayer, the weight on his soul having lifted. Only one of the ship's carpenters seemed dissatisfied with something. Offering a fishlike hand to Grey, he asked gloomily, "What gave you that idea, Captain?"
"It came to me like a blow from your hatchet," Grey replied. "Zimmeri Bring your lads over here."
The fiddler, whacking his musicians on the back, pushed and pulled out of the crowd eight sloppily dressed men.
"This one here, he's the trombone," said Zimmer. "He doesn't play-he booms like a cannon. These two boys who don't shave yet are the bugles. You hear them and you want to fight right away. Then comes the clarinet, the comet, and the second violin. They are all great experts at crowding the lively first violin. In other words, me. And here is the chief boss of our jolly trade-the drummer, Fritz. Drummers usually have, as you know, a disappointed look, but this one beats his drums with dignity and concentration. In his playing there is something open and direct, like his drumsticks. Is everything to your liking. Captain Grey?"
"Excellent," said Grey. "You've all been provided with hammocks in the hold, which for this trip has been loaded with various 'scherzos', 'adagios,' and 'fortissimos.' Panten, loose the moorings. Let's get going! I'll take over from you in two hours' time."
The two hours passed without his noticing them, for he was in the company of that inner music which had become as much a part of his consciousness as the pulse is of the arteries. He thought about one thing, wanted one thing, strove toward one thing. A man of action, in his thoughts he jumped the course of events, regretting only that he could not move as quickly as in a game of checkers. Nothing in his calm exterior revealed the tension of his feelings, which, like an enormous bell clanging above his head, resounded through his entire being. To calm himself he began to count: "One . . . two . . . thirty . . ." And so forth, until he reached "a thousand." This worked. He was capable, at last, of looking at the whole enterprise from the sideline. What surprised him was that he could not picture the inner Asole since he had never even spoken to her. He had read somewhere that it was possible, to some small extent, to understand a person by imagining his face and imitating its expression. Grey's eyes soon began to assume a strange untypical look and his lips began to form themselves into a weak and gentle smile, when suddenly he burst out laughing and went out to relieve Panten.
It was dark. Panten, with the collar of his jacket raised, was pacing back and forth at the compass, directing the helmsman: "Port one quarter point, port. Stop. A quarter point more." The Secret was sailing half-rigged before a tailwind.
"You know. Grey," said Panten, "I'm satisfied."
"With what?"
"With exactly what you are satisfied with. I've now understood everything. Right here on the bridge." He winked slyly, lighting up his smile with the embers in his pipe.
"Well," said Grey, suddenly guessing what Panten meant. "What is it that you've understood?"
"It's the best way of smuggling," Panten whispered. "Anyone can use any color sails he pleases. You are a genius. Grey!"
"Poor Panten!" said the captain, not knowing whether to be angry or to laugh. "Your guess is very clever, but there's nothing to it. Go along and sleep. I give you my word that you are mistaken. I am doing exactly what I said I was doing."
He checked the ship's course and sent the mate off to sleep.