It did not
serve to marshal excuses. He had frankly entered the affair in the role
of buccaneer; and here he was, high and dry on the reef.

The drums of jeopardy, so far as he was concerned, had been shot into
the moon two hundred thousand miles out of reach. He found himself
resenting Hawksley's honesty in the matter of the customs.

But immediately this sense of resentment caused him to chuckle.
Certainly some ancestor of his had been a Black Bart or a Galloping
Dick.

He would put a few straight questions to Hawksley, however. To have lost
all those precious stones and not to have inquired about them was a
bit foggy, wasn't normal, human. Unless--bang on the plexus came the
thought!--the beggar had hidden them himself. He had been exceedingly
clever in hiding the wallet. Come to think of it, he hadn't mentioned
that, either. Of course he had hidden the stones--either in Gregor's
apartment or in Kitty's. Blind as a bat. Now he understood why Karlov
had made a prisoner of Coles. The old buzzard had sensed a trap and had
countered it. The way of the transgressor was hard. His punishment for
entertaining a looter's idea would be work when he wanted to loaf and
enjoy himself.

Arriving at Hawksley's door he was confronted by a spectacle not without
its humorous touch: The nurse extending a bowl and Hawksley staring at
the sky beyond the window, stonily.

"But you must!" insisted Miss Frances.

"Chops or beefsteak!"

"It will give you nausea."

"Permit me to find out. Dash it, I'm hungry!" Hawksley declared. "I'm no
fever patient. A smart rap on the head; nothing more than that. Healthy
food will draw the blood down from there. Haven't lost anything but a
few hours of consciousness, and you treat me as though I'd been jolly
well peppered with shrapnel and gassed. Touch that stuff? Rather not!
Chops or beefsteak!"

"Let him have it, Miss Frances," advised Cutty from the doorway.

"But it's unusual," replied the nurse as a final protest.

"Give it a try. Is he strong enough to sit up through breakfast?"

"He's really not fit. But if he insists on doing the one he might as
well do the other."

"Righto!"--from the patient.

"Will you tell Kuroki to make it a beefsteak breakfast for four? I know
how Mr. Hawksley feels. Been through the same bout." Cutty wanted Miss
Frances out of the room.

"Very well. Only, I've warned him." Miss Frances left, somewhat miffed.

"Thanks," said Hawksley, smiling. "She thin