returned with a click to its ivory vise.

"My name is Haggerty, of th' New York detective force; American
Scotland Yard, 'f that'll sound better. Better tell me all about it."

"I'm a British subject, on board a British ship."

"Nothing doing in m' lord style. When y' put your foot on that pier
you become amenable t' th' laws o' th' United States, especially 'f
you've committed a crime."

"A crime?"

"Listen here. You went int' Lumpy Joe's, waited till Jameson got
drunk, an' then you rolled him."

"Rolled?"--genuinely bewildered.

"Picked his pockets, if you want it blunt. Th' question is, did he
take it from you 'r you from him? I can arrest you, Mr. Webb, British
subject 'r not. 'S up t' you t' tell me th' story. Don't be afraid of
me; I don't eat up men. All y' got t' do is t' treat me on th' level.
You won't lose anything 'f you're honest."

"Come with me, sir." (The smuggler was, in his day, a match in cunning
for any or all of His Majesty's coast-guards.)

Haggerty followed the young man down the various companionways.
Instinctively he knew what was coming, the pith of the matter if not
the details. Thomas pulled out his trunk, unlocked it, threw back the