"That's what I'm going to find out," I replied. I glanced up at the
Ladleys' door, but it was closed.

The little man dropped his oar, and fumbling in his pockets, pulled
out a small magnifying-glass. He bent over, holding to the rail, and
inspected the stains with the glass. I had taken a fancy to him at
once, and in spite of my excitement I had to smile a little.

"Humph!" he said, and looked up at me. "That's blood. Why did you
_cut_ the boat loose?"

"I didn't," I said. "If that is blood, I want to know how it got
there. That was a new rope last night." I glanced at the Ladleys' door
again, and he followed my eyes.

"I wonder," he said, raising his voice a little, "if I come into your
kitchen, if you will allow me to fry a little of that liver. There's a
wretched Maltese in a tree at the corner of Fourth Street that won't
touch it, raw."

I saw that he wanted to talk to me, so I turned around and led the way
to the temporary kitchen I had made.

"Now," he said briskly, when he had closed the door, "there's
something wrong here. Perhaps if you tell me, I can help. If I can't,
it will do you good to talk about it. My name's Holcombe, retired
merchant. Apply to First National Bank for references."

"I'm not sure there _is_ anything wrong," I began. "I guess I'm only
nervous, and thinking little things are big ones. There's nothing to