ign upon an opposite
corner.

As Condy had foretold, they had the place to themselves. They went
into the back room with its one mirror, six tables, and astonishing
curtains of Nottingham lace; and the waiter, whose name was Richard or
Riccardo, according to taste, began to officiate at the solemn rites of
the "supper Mexican." Condy and Blix ate with their eyes continually
wandering to the door; and as the FRIJOLES were being served, started
simultaneously and exchanged glances.

A man wearing two marguerites in the lapel of his coat had entered
abruptly, and sat down to a table close at hand.

Condy drew a breath of suppressed excitement.

"There he is," he whispered--"Captain Jack!"

They looked at the newcomer with furtive anxiety, and told themselves
that they were disappointed. For a retired sea captain he was
desperately commonplace. His hair was red, he was younger than they
had expected, and, worst of all, he did look tough.

"Oh, poor K. D. B.!" sighed Blix, shaking her head. "He'll never do,
I'm afraid. Perhaps he has a good heart, though; red-headed people are
SOMETIMES affectionate."

"They are impulsive," hazarded Condy.

As he spoke the words, a second man entered the little room. He, too,
sat down at a nearby table. He, too, ordered the "supper Mexican." He,
too, wore marguerites in his buttonhole.

"Death and destruction!" gasped Condy, turning pale.

Blix collapsed helplessly in her chair, her hands dropping in her lap.
They stared at each other in utter confusion.

"Here's a how-do-you-do," murmured Condy, pretending to strip a TAMALE
that Richard had just set before him. But Blix had pushed hers aside.

"What does it mean?" whispered Condy across the table. "In Heaven's
name, what does it mean?"

"It can only mean one thing," Blix declared; "one of them is the
captain, and one is a coincidence. Anybody might wear a marguerite; we
ought to have thought of that."

"But which is which?"

"If K. D. B. should come now!"

"But the last man looks more like the captain."

The last man was a sturdy, broad-shouldered fellow, who might have been
forty. His heavy mustache was just touched with gray, and he did have
a certain vaguely "sober and industrious" appearance. But the
difference between the two men was slight, after all; the red-headed
man could easily have been a sea captain, and he certainly was over
thirty-five.

"Which? which? which?--how can we tell? We might thin