'Old himself like a sojer?"

"That's 'im," agreed the bartender.

"What were y' robbed of?" demanded Haggerty.

Jameson looked into a pair of chilling blue eyes. His own wavered
drunkenly. "Money."

"Y' lie! What was it?" Haggerty seized Jameson by the collar and
swung him about. "Hurry up!"

"I tell you, my money. Paid off t'dy. 'E knew it. Sly." Jameson had
become almost sober. Out of the muddle one thing loomed clearly: he
could not be revenged upon his cabin-mate without getting himself into
deep trouble. Money; he'd stick to that.

"Who is he?"

"Name's Webb; firs'-class steward on th' _Celtic_. Damn 'im!"

"Lock this fool up till morning," said Haggerty. "I'll find out what
he's been robbed of."

"British subject!" roared Jameson.

"Not t'night. Take 'im away. Think I saw th' fellow running as I came
by. Yelled at him, but he could run some. Take 'im away. Something
fishy about this. I'll call on my friend Webb in th' morning. There
might be something in this."