d the man. "Belay there, and I'll freshen
your memory." He stepped back to the door, opened it, put his arm
out into the hall, and brought in a portmanteau, closed the door, and
appeared before Randolph again with the portmanteau in his hand. It was
the one that had been stolen. "There!" he said.

"Captain Dornton," murmured Randolph.

The man laughed again and flung down the portmanteau. "You've got
my name pat enough, lad, I see; but I reckoned you'd have spotted ME
without that portmanteau."

"I see you've got it back," stammered Randolph in his embarrassment. "It
was--stolen from me."

Captain Dornton laughed again, dropped into a chair, rubbed his hands on
his knees, and turned his face toward Randolph. "Yes; I stole it--or had
it stolen--the same thing, for I'm responsible."

"But I would have given it up to YOU at once," said Randolph
reproachfully, clinging to the only idea he could understand in his
utter bewilderment. "I have religiously and faithfully kept it for you,
with all its contents, ever since--you disappeared."

"I know it, lad," said Captain Dornton, rising, and extending a brown,
weather-beaten hand which closed heartily on the young man's; "no need
to say that. And you've kept it even better than you know. Look here!"

He lifted the portmanteau to his lap and disclosed BEHIND the usual
small pouch or pocket in the lid a slit in the lining. "Between the
lining and the outer leather," he went on grimly, "I had two or three
bank notes that came to about a thousand dollars, and some papers, lad,
that, reckoning by and large, might be worth to me a million. When I got
that portmanteau back they were all there, gummed in, just as I had left
them. I didn't show up and come for them myself, for I was lying low at
the time, and--no offense, lad--I didn't know how you stood with a party
who was no particular friend of mine. An old shipmate whom I set to
watch that party quite accidentally run across your bows in the ferry
boat, and heard enough to make him follow in your wake here, where he
got the portmanteau. It's all right," he said, with a laugh, waving
aside with his brown hand Randolph's protesting gesture. "The old
bag's only got back to its rightful owner. It mayn't have been got in
shipshape 'Frisco style, but when a man's life is at stake, at least,
when it's a question of his being considered dead or alive, he's got to
take things as he finds 'em, and I found 'em d--- bad."

In a flash o