t its magnificence might betray
him. He had kept it carefully tied about his neck in a bag on a bit of
string and had of course not even shown it to Jim Coast who might have
deemed it an excuse to sever their strange friendship.

Through the Head Steward he managed a message to Captain Armitage and
was bidden to the officer's cabin, where he explained the object of his
visit, exhibited his treasure and estimated its value.

The Captain opened his eyes a bit wider as he gazed into the sanguine
depths of the stone.

"If I didn't know something of your history, Nichols," he said with a
wink, "I might think you'd been looting the strong box of the Sultan of
Turkey. Pigeon's blood and as big as my thumb nail! You want to sell
it?"

"I need capital."

"What do you want for it?"

"It's worth a thousand pounds of English money. Perhaps more, I don't
know. I'll take what I can get."

"I see. You're afraid to negotiate the sale ashore?"

"Exactly. I'd be arrested."

"And you don't want explanations. H-m--leave it with me over night. I'll
see the Purser. He'll know."

"Thanks."

The Captain offered the waiter in the shell-jacket the hospitality of
his cabin, but Peter Nichols thanked him gratefully and withdrew.

The result of this arrangement was that the ruby ring changed owners.
The Purser bought it for two thousand in cash. He knew a good thing when
he saw it. But Peter Nichols was satisfied.

CHAPTER II

NEW YORK

The Duke-errant had prepared himself for the first glimpse of the
battlements of lower New York, but as the _Bermudian_ came up the bay
that rosy spring afternoon, the western sun gilding the upper half of
the castellated towers which rose from a sea of moving shadows, it
seemed a dream city, the fortress of a fairy tale. His fingers tingled
to express this frozen music, to relieve it from its spell of
enchantment, and phrases of Debussy's "Cathedrale Engloutie" came
welling up within him from almost forgotten depths.

"_Parbleu!_ She's grown some, Pete, since I saw her last!"

This from his grotesque companion who was not moved by concord of sweet
sounds. "They've buried the Trinity clean out of sight."

"The Trinity?" questioned Peter solemnly.

"Bless your heart----" laughed Coast, "I'd say so----But I mean, the
church----And that must be the Woolworth Building yonder. Where's yer
St. Paul's and Kremlin now? Some village,--what?"

"Gorgeous!" muttered Peter.

"Hell of a thing