my honour
that I am not drunk--not in the least. Also, what I shall tell you is
true, and I shall tell it briefly, for it is clear to me that you are
a man of affairs and action. Likewise, your chemistry is good. To you
alcohol has never been a million maggots gnawing at every cell of you.
You've never been to hell. I am there now. I am scorching. Now listen.

"My mother is alive. She is English. I was born in Australia. I
was educated at York and Yale. I am a master of arts, a doctor of
philosophy, and I am no good. Furthermore, I am an alcoholic. I have
been an athlete. I used to swan-dive a hundred and ten feet in the
clear. I hold several amateur records. I am a fish. I learned the
crawl-stroke from the first of the Cavilles. I have done thirty miles
in a rough sea. I have another record. I have punished more whiskey than
any man of my years. I will steal sixpence from you for the price of a
drink. Finally, I will tell you the truth.

"My father was an American--an Annapolis man. He was a midshipman in the
War of the Rebellion. In '66 he was a lieutenant on the _Suwanee_. Her
captain was Paul Shirley. In '66 the Suwanee coaled at an island in the
Pacific which I do not care to mention, under a protectorate which did
not exist then and which shall be nameless. Ashore, behind the bar of a
public house, my father saw three copper spikes--ship's spikes."

David Grief smiled quietly.

"And now I can tell you the name of the coaling station and of the
protectorate that came afterward," he said.

"And of the three spikes?" Pankburn asked with equal quietness. "Go
ahead, for they are in my possession now."

"Certainly. They were behind German Oscar's bar at Peenoo-Peenee. Johnny
Black brought them there from off his schooner the night he died. He was
just back from a long cruise to the westward, fishing beche-de-mer and
sandalwood trading. All the beach knows the tale."

Pankburn shook his head.

"Go on," he urged.

"It was before my time, of course," Grief explained. "I only tell what
I've heard. Next came the Ecuadoran cruiser, of all directions, in from
the westward, and bound home. Her officers recognized the spikes. Johnny
Black was dead. They got hold of his mate and logbook. Away to the
westward went she. Six months after, again bound home, she dropped in at
Peenoo-Peenee. She had failed, and the tale leaked out."

"When the revolutionists were marching on Guayaquil," Pankburn took it
up, "the federal of