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any connection between Tarneverro and Denny Mayo, then the fortune-teller killed her. That’s certain.”

Charlie exchanged a long look with his Chief. The latter turned to Smith. “You can go along,” he said. “And don’t let me see you here again.”

The beach-comber rose quickly. “You won’t—not if it’s left to me,” he remarked. “Of course, if you keep dragging me in——” He walked over to Fyfe. “I really am sorry, old man. I want you to know—in one respect at least I kept my word—I haven't had a drink all day. I sat in my room—money in my pocket—sat there and painted a lot of wicked-looking flowers, with my throat as dry as the Sahara. It was a tough assignment, but I came through it. Who knows—maybe I’ve got a chance yet. Here”—he took a roll of bills from his pocket—“this is yours.”

“Why, what is it?” Fyfe asked.

“Thirty-two bucks—all I’ve got left of the fifty. Sorry it isn’t more, but I bought a bit of canvas and some brushes—a chap can’t just sit in a room, you know.”

Fyfe stood up, and pushed the money away. “Oh, that’s all right. It was a rather good painting—that’s how I feel about it. Keep the money and get yourself some decent clothes.”

Smith’s pale gray eyes shone with gratitude. “By heaven—you're a gentleman. It does a fellow good to meet you. I feel something stirring within me—can it be a great resolve? They tell me there’s a scarcity of stewards on the boats, To-morrow morning I’ll buy myself some new things, and sign on for the trip to the coast. San Francisco—it’s only a short walk from there to Cleveland. Yes—by the lord—I’ll do it.”