w
its genesis. The metamorphosis was physical as well as mental. Verity
burgeoned before his very eyes.

"Of course, that makes a h-- a tremenjous difference," said the
shipowner. "You 'ave my word for it, an' that is enough for most men.
Mr. Andrews 'll give you all the information you want. I'll cable now
to Rio an' Pernambewco, an' see if I can get any straight news from the
shippin' 'ouses there. I'll let you know if I 'ear anything, an' you
might do the same by me."

The reporter gave this promise readily. He scented a possible scandal,
and meant to keep in touch with Verity. Meanwhile, he was in need of
the facts which the managing clerk could supply, so he took himself off.

Bulmer went to the window and looked out. A drizzle of sleet was
falling from a gray sky. The atmosphere was heavy. It was a day
singularly appropriate to the evil tidings that had shocked him into a
fury against the man who had so willfully deceived him. David picked
up the proof slips and reread them. He compared them with the
paragraphs in the newspaper brought by Bulmer, and thrown by him on the
table after his first outburst of helpless wrath. They were identical
in wording, of course, but, somehow, their meaning was clearer in the
printed page: and David, despite his uncouth diction, was a clever man.

He wrinkled his forehead now in analysis of each line. Soon he hit on
something that puzzled him.

"Dickey," he said.

There was no answer. The old man peering through the window seemed to
have bent and whitened even since he came into the room.

"Look 'ere, Dickey," went on David, "this dashed fairy-tale won't hold
water. _You_ know Coke. Is 'e the kind o' man to go bumpin' round
like a stage 'ero, an' hoisting Union Jacks as the ship sinks? I ax
you, is 'e? It's nonsense, stuff an' nonsense. An', if the Andromeeda
was scrapped at Fernando Noronha, 'oo were the freebooters that
collared the island, an' 'ow did this 'ere De Sylva get to Maceio? Are
you listenin'?"

"Yes," said Bulmer, turning at last, and devouring Verity with his
deep-set eyes.

"Well, wot d'ye think of it?"

"Did you send the ship to Fernando Noronha?"

It is needless to place on record the formula of David's denial. It
was forcible, and served its purpose--that should suffice.

"Under ordinary conditions she would 'ave passed the island about the
31st?" continued Bulmer.

"Yes. Confound it, 'aven't I bin cablin' there every two d