."

Ten minutes' walk brought them to the hotel. As O'Higgins signed
the hotel register, his keen glance took in the latest signatures.

"Anywhere," he said in answer to the manager's query. "I'm not
particular about rooms. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I
have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat."

"Come this way, Mr. O'Higgins," said the manager, amusedly.

O'Higgins followed him into the dining room. That register would be
easy to get at; comforting thought. It did not matter in the least
what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle
O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. There was something fatalistic
about the letter H. The individual twist was always there, even in
the cleverest forgeries.

The eggs were all right, but nobody in this part of the world had
the least conception of what the coffee bean was for. Always as
black and bitter as gall. Coffee a la Turque wasn't so bad; but a
guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it.

Two women entered and sat down at the adjoining table. After a
while one began to talk.

"The manager says there is still some doubt. The change will come
to-day. Ah Cum had no business taking him into the city last night.
The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was."

O'Higgins extracted a cigar from a pocket and inspected it. Henry
Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New
York. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles
from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. He
heard the woman talking again.

"I feel guilty, going away and leaving that ignorant child; but our
days have been so planned that we dare not change the schedule.
Didn't understand me when I said she would be compromised! He won't
be able to leave his bed under four weeks; and she said she hadn't
much money. If she had once known him, if he were some former
neighbour, it would be comprehensible. But an individual she never
laid eyes on day before yesterday! And the minute he gets up, he'll
head for the public bar. There's something queer about that young
man; but we'll never be able to find out what it is. I don't
believe his name is Taber."

O'Higgins tore free the scarlet band of his perfecto, the end of
which he bit off with strong white teeth, and smiled. You certainly
had to hand it to these Chinks. Picked up the photograph, looked at
it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear