o large for the body, yet this might have been because
it carried a plenteous shock of straw-colored hair, with mustache and
beard to match. He was attired in "knickers" and pleated jacket, that
looked as if he'd slept in them, and his fat legs were knock-kneed. On
the floor about his feet lay almost every conceivable type and age of
traveling bag, with the inevitable camera.

"What's his name?" Tommy asked, not that that would have made any
difference if his passport were in order.

"Registered as 'Monsieur Dragot, of Roumania,'" the proprietor answered.

"Roumania!" Tommy looked at me. "Let's go meet him, Jack."

Monsieur Dragot turned out to be the original singed cat, for assuredly
he possessed more attractive qualities inside than were exteriorly
visible, and from a first shyness that did not lack charm he expanded
briskly. After visiting a "dry" cafe, to seal this fortunate
acquaintanceship--as he insisted upon calling it--he warmed up to us and
we to him, with the result that his bags were soon carried down and
stowed in our spare stateroom. Leaving him there, we went on deck.

"Dragot," Tommy mused. "Speaks with a slight accent, but I can't make
out what!"

"Roumanian, possibly," I suggested, "as he comes from there."

"You rather excel yourself," he smiled. "Registering from Roumania,
however, isn't prima facie evidence that he's a Roumanian."

"He's a clever little talker, all the same."

"Right O! Too clever. I'm wondering if we aren't a pair of chumps to
take him."

"Why?"

"He may be a crook, for all we know. Did you notice what he said about
holding a commission from Azuria, and then hurrying to explain that
Azuria isn't on the ordinary maps--just a wee bit of a kingdom up in the
Carpathians, yet in the confines of Roumania? I call that fishy!"

"Not entirely so, Tommy. When you said it might now be turning into a
republic, did you notice how proudly he declared that the descendants of
Basil the Wolf couldn't be humbled?--that, situated in Moldavia, and
escaping the ravages of the Bulgarian army, they were stronger today
than ever?"

"Sounds like raving, sonny. Who the dickens is Basil the Wolf? No, Jack,
that doesn't tell us anything."

"It tells us he couldn't have been inspired like that unless the place
and people were real to him!"

"Well, pirate or priest," Tommy laughed, "he'll do if he waltzes us up
to the big adventure. You're about fit enough to tackle one now!" During
the past