Kamchatka, Land's End--anywhere except on this ship. As I had told the
agent of the Phillipson Rifles, I am no boy. One can scarcely knock
about the world for thirty years without gaining some of its wisdom; and
of all the appropriate truisms I spared myself not one.

Resentfully I reminded myself that mysteries were suspicious, that
honest people seldom had need of secrecy, that idiots who, like me,
consented to act blindfold would probably repent their blindness
in sackcloth and ashes before long. But what use were these sage
reflections? I had given my word to her. I was in for the consequences,
however unpleasant they proved.

Without further mental parley I went down to my cabin, where I routed
out from among my traps a bronze paper-weight as heavy as lead. Wrapping
the mysterious sheet about it, I brought the package back on deck. There
was not a soul in sight; it was a propitious hour.

To right and to left the coast lights were slipping past, making golden
paths on the black water as our tug pulled us out to sea. The reservists
down below were singing "_Va fuori, o stranier_!" I dropped my package
overboard, watched it vanish, and turned to behold the sphinx-like
Van Blarcom, sprung up as if by magic, regarding me placidly from the
shelter of the smoking-room door.



CHAPTER V

MR. VAN BLARCOM. U. S. A.