is "Wild
Bob" Carew, as the boatswain had termed him--must be a man very
indifferent to his surroundings, or else mightily anxious to remain
under cover. The captains Martin had met were particular men; one
would not find them in such a noisome hole. This Carew must be some
rough renegade. Perhaps he was not even white; perhaps he was a
half-caste. That would explain his choice of lodgings. One would
think from all the secret mummery with which he surrounded himself that
he was the Mikado, himself. He certainly was not very popular with the
boatswain.

Thus far had Martin got with his musings, when his attention was
attracted by noises that suddenly disturbed the unearthly quiet of the
house. They reached him quite plainly through the thin walls.

A door slammed, below stairs. He heard sounds of a scuffle. The
sounds drew nearer--grunts, exclamations, footsteps. They were coming
up the stairs. In the hall outside a door was noisily opened. Some
one ran past his door, and sentences were, spoken in a harsh, clicking,
alien tongue.

Martin sat tensely on the edge of the bed. What was about, there in
the hall? The scuffling had reached the head of the stairs; now it was
opposite his door. Several pairs of feet were making that noise.
Martin heard a voice exclaim chokingly, and in English----

"Let go--let go of me!"

It was a strange voice, a rich and thrilling voice, and it carried an
appeal. A man's voice?

Martin felt his way to the door. This affair without was none of his
business, but he must see what was being done to the owner of that
voice. He must confirm or dispel that vague suspicion.

He turned the knob and pulled, and the door came a few inches. There
was an exclamation from some one who stood in front of the door. An
arm shot through the opening, a clenched hand impacted against the pit
of his stomach, and Martin went reeling backward. The door slammed
shut and the lock clicked.

Martin fetched up against the bed and sat down heavily, experiencing
that sharp agony that follows upon a plexus punch. In that brief
instant he had held the door ajar, however, he had witnessed a sight
that caused him to ignore the pain. He had seen what was transpiring
in the hall. He had seen the group of little yellow men clustered
about and urging along a single figure that slightly overtopped them; a
figure clad in a gray overcoat.

At the very second Martin had looked, a gray cap had fallen