e was a further
change of linen, the buckskin bag, which he could see now contained
a couple of Bank of England notes, with some foreign gold mixed with
American half-eagles, and a cheap, rough memorandum book clasped with
elastic, containing a letter in a boyish hand addressed "Dear Daddy"
and signed "Bobby," and a photograph of a boy taken by a foreign
photographer at Callao, as the printed back denoted, but nothing giving
any clue whatever to the name of the owner.

A strange idea seized him: did the portmanteau really belong to the man
who had given it to him? Had he been the innocent receiver of stolen
goods from some one who wished to escape detection? He recalled now that
he had heard stories of robbery of luggage by thieves "Sydney ducks"--on
the deserted wharves, and remembered, too,--he could not tell why the
thought had escaped him before,--that the man had spoken with an English
accent. But the next moment he recalled his frank and open manner, and
his mind cleared of all unworthy suspicion. It was more than likely that
his benefactor had taken this delicate way of making a free, permanent
gift for that temporary service. Yet he smiled faintly at the return of
that youthful optimism which had caused him so much suffering.

Nevertheless, something must be done: he must try to find the man; still
more important, he must seek work before this dubious loan was further
encroached upon. He restrapped the portmanteau and replaced it under the
table, locked the door, gave the key to the office clerk, saying that
any one who called upon him was to await his return, and sallied forth.
A fresh wind and a blue sky of scudding clouds were all that remained
of last night's storm. As he made his way to the fateful wharf, still
deserted except by an occasional "wharf-rat,"--as the longshore vagrant
or petty thief was called,--he wondered at his own temerity of last
night, and the trustfulness of his friend in yielding up his portmanteau
to a stranger in such a place. A low drinking saloon, feebly disguised
as a junk shop, stood at the corner, with slimy green steps leading to
the water.

The wharf was slowly decaying, and here and there were occasional gaps
in the planking, as dangerous as the one from which he had escaped the
night before. He thought again of the warning he might have given to
the stranger; but he reflected that as a seafaring man he must have been
familiar with the locality where he had landed. But had