"Oh, Paula," Dick said across to his wife. "I just got word that
Graham arrives to-morrow morning. Better tell Oh Joy to put him in the
watch-tower. It's man-size quarters, and it's possible he may carry
out his threat and work on his book."

"Graham?--Graham?" Paula queried aloud of her memory. "Do I know him?"

"You met him once two years ago, in Santiago, at the Café Venus. He
had dinner with us."

"Oh, one of those naval officers?"

Dick shook his head.

"The civilian. Don't you remember that big blond fellow--you talked
music with him for half an hour while Captain Joyce talked our heads
off to prove that the United States should clean Mexico up and out
with the mailed fist."

"Oh, to be sure," Paula vaguely recollected. "He'd met you somewhere
before... South Africa, wasn't it? Or the Philippines?"

"That's the chap. South Africa, it was. Evan Graham. Next time we met
was on the _Times_ dispatch boat on the Yellow Sea. And we
crossed trails a dozen times after that, without meeting, until that
night in the Café Venus.

"Heavens--he left Bora-Bora, going east, two days before I dropped
anchor bound west on my way to Samoa. I came out of Apia, with letters