and timidly, "what was it? I would like to know."

The note of timidity offended me like a buffet; my temper rose as hot as
mustard. "I must request you do not ask me," said I; "it is a matter I
cannot explain."

The moment the foolish words were said, that moment I would have given
worlds to recall them; how much more when Pinkerton, patting my hand,
replied, "All right, dear boy, not another word; that's all done; I'm
convinced it's perfectly right!" To return upon the subject was beyond
my courage; but I vowed inwardly that I should do my utmost in the
future for this mad speculation, and that I would cut myself in pieces
before Jim should lose one dollar.

We had no sooner arrived at the address than I had other things to think
of.

"Mr. Dickson? He's gone," said the landlady.

Where had he gone?

"I'm sure I can't tell you," she answered. "He was quite a stranger to
me."

"Did he express his baggage, ma'am?" asked Pinkerton.

"Hadn't any," was the reply. "He came last night, and left again to-day
with a satchel."

"When did he leave?" I inquired.

"It was about noon," replied the landlady. "Some-one rang up the
telephone, and asked for him; and I reckon he got some news, for he left
right away, although his rooms were taken by the week. He seemed
considerable put out: I reckon it was a death."

My heart sank; perhaps my idiotic jest had indeed driven him away; and
again I asked myself, "Why?" and whirled for a moment in a vortex of
untenable hypotheses.

"What was he like, ma'am?" Pinkerton was asking, when I returned to
consciousness of my surroundings.

"A clean-shaved man," said the woman, and could be led or driven into no
more significant description.

"Pull up at the nearest drug-store," said Pinkerton to the driver; and
when there, the telephone was put in operation, and the message sped to
the Pacific Mail Steamship Company's office--this was in the days before
Spreckels had arisen--"When does the next China steamer touch at
Honolulu?"

"The _City of Pekin_; she cast off the dock to-day, at half-past one,"
came the reply.

"It's a clear case of bolt," said Jim. "He's skipped, or my name's not
Pinkerton. He's gone to head us off at Midway Island."

Somehow I was not so sure; there were elements in the case not known to
Pinkerton--the fears of the captain, for example--that inclined me
otherwise; and the idea that I had terrified Mr. Dickson into flight,
though resting on so slender a