weet young face still haggard with the anguish it has
worn,' but I'm here, which is, after all, the salient feature of the
situation. Say, what did you do to them?"

"I?" questioned Saxon. "I did nothing. The minister came and took me
out of their Bastile."

"Well, say, he must have thrown an awful scare into them." Mr. Rodman
thoughtfully stroked his chin with a thin forefinger. "He must have
intimidated them unmercifully and brutally. They stampeded into my
wing of the Palace, and set me free as though they were afraid I had
the yellow-fever. 'Wide they flung the massive portals'--all that sort
of thing. Now, what puzzles me is, why did they do it? They had the
goods on me--almost. However, I'm entirely pleased." Rodman laughed as
he lighted a cigar, and waved his hand with mock sentiment toward the
shore. "And I had put the rifles through, too," he declared,
jubilantly. "I'd turned them over to the _insurrecto_ gentleman in
good order. Did they clamor for your blood about the $200,000?"

"Rodman," said Saxon slowly, "I hardly expect you to believe it, but
that was a case of mistaken identity. I'm not the man you think. I was
never in Puerto Frio before."

Rodman let the cigar drop from his astonished lips, and caught wildly
after it as it fell overboard.

"What?" he demanded, at last. "How's that?"

"It was a man who looked like me," elucidated Saxon.

"You are damned right--he looked like you!" Rodman halted, amazed into
silence. At last, he said: "Well, you have got the clear nerve! What's
the idea, anyhow. Don't you trust me?"

The artist laughed.

"I hardly thought you would credit it," he said. "After all, that
doesn't make much difference. The point is, my dear boy, _I_ know it."

But Rodman's debonair smile soon returned. He held up his hand with a
gesture of acceptance.

"What difference does it make? A gentleman likes to change his
linen--why not his personality? I dare say it's a very decent
impulse."

For a moment, Saxon looked up with an instinctive resentment for the
politely phrased skepticism of the other. Then, his displeasure
changed to a smile. He had, for a moment, felt the same doubt when Mr.
Pendleton brought his verdict. Rodman had none of the facts, and a
glance at the satirical features showed that it would be impossible
for this unimaginative adventurer to construe premises to a seemingly
impossible conclusion. He was the materialist, and dealt in palpable
appearances. After a