iumphantly from the cluster of craft doing
penance, and, with a fresh pilot, steamed on up the yellow river, past
the white sugar-mills, and the heavy cypresses behind the banks. And in
due time the pilot brought her up to New Orleans, and, with his glasses
on the bridge, Kettle saw his acquaintance, Mr. Lupton, waiting for him
on the levee.

He got his steamer berthed in the crowded tier, and Mr. Lupton pushed on
board over the first gang-plank. But Kettle waved the man aside till he
saw his vessel finally moored. And then he took him into the chart-house
and shut the door.

"You seem to have got my cable," he said. "It was a very expensive one,
but I thought the occasion needed it."

His visitor tapped Kettle confidentially on the knee. "You'll find my
office will deal most liberally with you, Captain. But I can tell you
I'm pretty excited to hear your full yarn."

"I'm afraid you won't like it," said Kettle. "The man's obviously dead,
and, fancy it or not, I don't see how your office can avoid paying the
full amount. However, here's the way I've logged it down"--and he went
off into detailed narration.

The New Orleans heat smote upon the chart-house roof, and the air
outside clattered with the talk of negroes. Already hatches were off,
and the winch chains sang as they struck out cargo, and from the levee
alongside, and from New Orleans below and beyond, came tangles of smells
which are peculiarly their own. A steward brought in tea, and it stood
on the chart-table untasted, and at last Kettle finished, and Lupton
put a question.

"It's easy to tell," he said, "if they did swap names. What was the man
that went overboard like?"

"Little dark fellow, short sighted. He was a poet, too."

"That's not Hamilton, anyway, but it might be Cranze. Is your prisoner
tall?"

"Tall and puffy. Red-haired and a spotty face."

"That's Hamilton, all the way. By Jove! Skipper, we've saved our bacon.
His yarn's quite true. They did change names. Hamilton's a rich young
ass that's been painting England red these last three years."

"But, tell me, what did the little chap go overboard for?"

"Got there himself. Uneasy conscience, I suppose. He seems to have been
a poor sort of assassin anyway. Why, when that drunken fool tumbled
overboard amongst the sharks, he didn't leave him to be eaten or
drowned, is more than I can understand. He'd have got his money as easy
as picking it up off the floor, if he'd only had the sense