itzgerald?"

"Yes."

"And be sure to take an empty carriage to carry canned food and bottled
water," supplemented Cathewe. "The native food is frightful. The
first time I took the journey I was ignorant. Happily it was in the
autumn, when the chestnuts were ripe. Otherwise I should have starved."

"And you spent a winter or spring here, Hildegarde?" said Mrs.
Coldfield.

"It was lovely then." There was a dream in Hildegarde's eyes.

The hotel omnibus was out of service, and they rode up in carriages.
The season was over, and under ordinary circumstances the hotel would
have been closed. A certain royal family had not yet left, and this
fact made the arrangements possible. It was now very warm. Dust lay
everywhere, on the huge palms, on the withered plants, on the chairs
and railings, and swam palpable in the air. Breitmann was nowhere to
be found, but he had seen the manager of the hotel and secured rooms
facing the bay. Later, perhaps two hours after the arrival, he
appeared. In this short time he had completed his plans. As he viewed
them he could see no flaw.

Now it came about that Captain Flanagan, who had not left the ship once
during the journey, found his one foot aching for a touch and feel of
the land. So he and Holleran, the chief-engineer, came ashore a little
before noon and decided to have a bite of maccaroni under the shade of
the palms in the _Place des Palmiers_. A bottle of warm beer was
divided between them. The captain said Faugh! as he drank it.

"Try th' native wine, Capt'n," suggested the chief-engineer.

"I have a picture of Cap'n Flanagan drinkin' the misnamed vinegar. No
Dago's bare fut on the top o' mine, when I'm takin' a glass. An'
that's th' way they make ut. This Napoleyun wus a fine man. He pushed
'em round some."

"Sure, he had Irish blood in 'im, somewheres," Holleran assented. "But
I say," suddenly stretching his lean neck, "will ye look t' see who's
comin' along!"

Flanagan stared. "If ut ain't that son-of-a-gun ov a Picard, I'll eat
my hat!" The captain grew purple. "An' leavin' th' ship without
orders!"

"An' the togs!" murmured Holleran.

"Watch me!" said Flanagan, rising and squaring his peg.

Picard, arrayed in clean white flannels, white shoes, a panama set
rakishly on his handsome head, his fingers twirling a cane, came
head-on into the storm. The very jauntiness of his stride was as a red
rag to the captain. So then, a hand, heavy and