t conceal my surprise--dangled it
before me triumphantly.

"Which of 'em it belong to," he continued, thrusting it into another
pocket and drumming loudly on the counter for more beer, "I can't say,
'cos I don't know. But that ain't all."

The tankards being refilled and my friend having sampled the contents of
his own:

"That ain't all," he continued. "I thought I'd keep it as a sort of
relic, like. What 'appened? I'll tell you. Amongst the crew there's
three Chinks--see? We ain't through the canal before one of 'em, a new
one to me--Li Ping is his name--offers me five bob for the pigtail,
which he sees me looking at one mornin'. I give him a punch on the nose
an' 'e don't renew the offer: but that night (we're layin' at Port Said)
'e tries to pinch it! I dam' near broke his neck, and 'e don't try any
more. To-night"--he extended his right arm forensically--"a deppitation
of Chinks waits on me at the dock gates; they explains as from a
patriotic point of view they feels it to be their dooty to buy that
pigtail off of me, and they bids a quid, a bar of gold--a Jimmy o'
Goblin!"

He snapped his fingers contemptuously and emptied his pewter. A sense
of what was coming began to dawn on me. That the "hold-up" near the
riverside formed part of the scheme was possible, and, reflecting on
my rough treatment of the two Chinamen, I chuckled inwardly. Possibly,
however, the scheme had germinated in my acquaintance's mind merely as
a result of an otherwise common assault, of a kind not unusual in these
parts, but, whether elaborate or comparatively simple, that the story
of the pigtail was a "plant" designed to reach my pocket, seemed a
reasonable hypothesis.

"I told him to go to China," concluded the object of my suspicion, again
rapping upon the counter, "and you see what come of it. All I got to say
is this: If they're so bloody patriotic, I says one thing: I ain't the
man to stand in their way. You done me a good turn to-night, mate; I'm
doing you one. 'Ere's the bloody pigtail, 'ere's my empty mug. Fill the
mug and the pigtail's yours. It's good for a quid at the dock gates any
day!"

My suspicions vanished; my interest arose to boiling point. I refilled
my acquaintance's mug, pressed a sovereign upon him (in honesty I must
confess that he was loath to take it), and departed with the pigtail
coiled neatly in an inner pocket of my jacket. I entered the house in
Wade Street by the side door, and half an hour later let