erstanding as the lawyer paused, and extended his
hand for the envelope. It was simple. This Carew was evidently lying
doggo in this water-front saloon.

"One moment!" said Smatt. "Repeat your instructions."

Martin obeyed, and, being blessed with a memory, he repeated them
verbatim.

"Very good," said Smatt. "Now, for the rest." He shot a quick glance
to Dr. Ichi, and the Japanese bowed. "This person, Spulvedo, will lead
you into Captain Carew's presence. Under no circumstances will you
deliver this envelope to other than Carew, himself. You may identify
him readily by his appearance. He is a large, blond man, with a deep
voice. He speaks with an English accent, using the words of an
educated man. A star is tattooed in red upon the back of his right
hand."

Smatt paused again. Martin, parrot-like, repeated the other's words.
Dr. Ichi inclined his head in approval. Smatt continued:

"To make your identification doubly sure, you will use this precaution:
When you approach Carew you will say, 'I wish to see you on the
Hakotdate business.' He will respond, 'It is time that business was
settled. Did the Chief send you?' Then you will deliver the envelope
to him. Now, repeat in full my instructions."

Martin complied correctly. Dr. Ichi silently signified his approval.
Smatt handed the sealed envelope across the desk, and Martin
straightway stowed it in his inside coat-pocket.

"Of course, Blake, you are to mention this matter to no one," was the
lawyer's parting injunction as Martin withdrew from the room.

It seemed to Martin, as he reentered the outer office, that the room's
air had the indefinable tinge of very recent occupancy. When he
emerged from the private office, he seemed to be treading upon some
one's heels, so to speak. He opened the door and looked out into the
hall, but the hall was empty. Then he dismissed the matter from his
mind as a fancy.

CHAPTER II

THE WEEPING BOATSWAIN

Martin lived at Mrs. Meagher's Select Board for Select People
establishment, far out in the western addition. He was star boarder,
and as such made free with Mrs. Meagher's little private parlor. A
fire always burned there on cool evenings, and moreover, he escaped the
ragtime that nightly filled the community room where the piano was, the
interminable arguments anent the European war, and the coy advances of
the manicure lady.

In that little room Martin spent his best hours. It was there