w life. I am born to a new name and safe, even in Germany."

It was only when Sandy Hook light was far astern that August Meyer
gave up the wild potations which even astounded Heinrichs. "One
doesn't go away on a vacation every day," joyfully cried August
Meyer. "One more bottle of the Frenchman's sparkling wine, and then
to turn in and wake far out on blue water!" The fool, safe in his
own conceit, forgot the curse of Cain branded upon him now. But
the vengeance of God was following him out on the dark waters!

The lonely gulls, screaming and soaring at daybreak, skimming the
waters of New York Bay, dipping and struggling over each bit of
flotsam, rested upon the fragments of a broken trunk floating idly
along upon the sunlit waters.

There was nothing to indicate the previous contents of the package
which had been shattered by the screw of a passing vessel; there
was neither mark nor token of its past history.

And so it floated idly up and down, borne hither and thither by
the veering tides, while far below, on the ooze, the heavy irons
still weighted down the corpse of the man who had been lured to
his death by the noblest impulses of the human heart.

And the sun came gaily up, upon the day of repose, God's own
appointed day of rest, the glittering beams played upon the closed
windows of the stately old mansion, where nothing remained to
tell of a "deed without a name" save a heap of dead ashes in the
blackened grate of the laundry furnace. The pathway of the criminal
seemed covered to all mortal eyes.

The cautious patrons of the "Valkyrie," stealing in by the side
entrances, talked in whispers of the re-opening of the pool-room,
and the sleeping "blind tiger."

"Come around any evening next week, after the Fourth," was the message
given to the "safe" patrons, "and we will be happy to accommodate
you."

There was no human being in the offices of the Western Trading
Company save the janitor, busy at his semi-annual clean-up, and the
Monday holiday approached with no suspicion of Randall Clayton's
disappearance.

"All New York" had hied "out of town" with its usual unpatriotic
snobbishness, and only the attendants of Mr. Randall Clayton's
rooms noted his absence.

"Singular young fellow," said the janitor to his sturdy wife.
"Comes and goes like a ghost; no friends, and has no life of his
own. Good-looking young fellow, too. Ought to have a wife and family
around him.

"It's the old story: hotel a