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of pretty pin is good enough, but it is not vital to us. Vital matter is, what did this man hear Shelah Fane and Robert Fyfe saying to each other while he lingered outside pavilion window? Something of great importance—something Mr. Fyfe made false confession to quiet—something he has paid Mr. Smith nice sum to conceal. But now Mr. Smith changes mind. He will not conceal it any longer.”

“Oh, yes, I will,” cried Smith. “I mean—it was nothing—nothing——”

“We hold you for theft,” cut in Charlie. “Do you enjoy prisons? I think not. Neither does territory enjoy supporting you there. Under a certain circumstance, memory of theft might fade from our minds for ever. Am I speaking correctly, Chief?”

The Chief was dubious. “You think it’s as important as that, Charlie?”

“It is of vast importance,” Chan replied.

“All right.” He turned to the beach-comber. “Tell us the truth of what you heard last night, and you can go, I won't press the charge. But—it’s got to be the truth, this time.”

Smith hesitated. His rosy dream of the mainland, decent clothes, respectability, was dying hard. But he shuddered at the thought of Oahu Prison.

“All right,” he said at last. “I'll tell you. I hate to do it, but—oh, well—there’s Cleveland. My father—a most punctilious man, Easily annoyed—growing old, you know. I’ve got to get out of this jam for his sake, if not for my own. When I came up to that window, Inspector——”

Chan raised his hand. “A moment, please, I have keen desire to see Robert Fyfe in this room when you