that's all. I've got my own
instructions, and I'll carry 'em out, never fear. But I hate to feel
that just when things get tight, somebody may flash another bit of paper
on me and tell me I mustn't shoot, because the green man with the pink
eyes is in charge of that department, or something."

"I can assure you there are no other letters of authority, Barry,"
stated Little definitely.

"All right, then. Since I'm still in command of this fine ship, I'll
stop the order for Gordon's lunch. Come on. We'll go to him and thrash
the thing out at once," announced Barry, rising.

At the station they found a pitiful wreck. Gordon was cold sober, and
it was as if all his vital fluid had evaporated. His face was ghastly,
his nerves utterly out of control, and his tongue stumbled as though it
were hung by the middle with both ends at odds. Yet for all his shocking
physical condition, something in the wastrel Englishman appealed to
Barry as no part of the man had done the previous evening. Something
hinted at a long deeply buried spirit struggling for release, and
Gordon's speech, if stumbling, at least strove to be serious.

"Glad you came, skipper," he greeted them, with a contorted smile that
puckered his face and made plainer the hideous inroads of a life's
dissipation. "Shan't be able to keep that luncheon engagement."

The trembling fingers pushed a heap of papers and books over to Barry
and immediately resumed the task of filling a battered portmanteau with
crumpled clothes.

"We came to talk business, Gordon. For God's sake, take a drink and
steady yourself, man!" Barry jerked out, a great pity for the hopeless
wreck coming over him. Gordon affected the sailor like a fine ship
broken and disintegrating on a devilish reef.

"Thanks, old chap. I'm all right. Business? I'm as capable now as I'll
ever be. Come to chuck me out, haven't you? Go ahead. There are the
records, stock lists, and the rest of the mess. Help yourself."

An inquiring glance and a nodded assent passed between Barry and
Little, and the latter gathered up the records, pushing Houten's letter
over to Gordon as his authority.

"Don't know how you heard of it, Gordon, but that will verify your
supposition. You're not fired, y' know, unless you want to be--at least,
not yet. Simply superseded during the period of the stay of a certain
Mr. Leyden."

The Englishman dropped the packed bag with a bang and gripped the table
to steady himself.

"Go on, Mr