"You are wondering what brought me to California. As a matter of fact, a private car. No, thanks, no more claret." Later, we hoped he might melt into confidence over tobacco and toddy. He smoked one cigar slowly, and with evident appreciation; and, as he smoked, he stroked the head of Conan, our Irish setter, an ultra- particular person, who abominated tramps and strangers. "Conan likes you," said Ajax abruptly. "Is that his name? 'Conan,' eh? Good Conan, good dog!" Presently, he threw away the stub of his cigar and crossed to a small mirror. With a self-possession rather surprising, he began to examine himself. "I am renewing acquaintance," he explained gravely, "with a man I have not seen for some months." "By what name shall we call that man?" said Ajax boldly. There was a slight pause, and then our guest said quietly-- "Would 'Sponge' do? 'Soapy Sponge'!" "No," said my brother. "My father's Christian name was John. Call me 'Johnson.'" Accordingly, we called him Johnson for the rest of the evening. While the toddies were being consumed, Johnson observed the safe, a purchase of my brother's, in which we kept our papers and accounts and any money we might have. We had bought it, second-hand, and the vendor assured us it was quite burglar-proof. Ajax mentioned this to our guest. He laughed presently. "No safe is burglar-proof," he said; "and most certainly not that one." He continued in a slightly different tone: "I suppose you are not imprudent enough to keep money in it. I mean gold. On a big, lonely ranch like this all your money affairs should be transacted with cheques." "We are in the wilds," said Ajax, "and it may surprise you to learn that not so very long ago the Spanish-Californians who owned most of the land kept thousands of pounds in gold slugs. In the attic over this old 'adobe,' Don Juan Soberanes, from whom we bought this ranch, kept his cash in gold dust and slugs in a clothes-basket. His nephew used to take a tile off the roof, drop a big lump of tallow attached to a cord into the basket, and scoop up what he could. The man who bought our steers yesterday has no dealings with banks. He paid us in Uncle Sam's notes." "Did he?" Shortly afterwards we went to bed. As our guest turned into the spare room, he said whimsically-- "Have I entertained you? You have entertained me." Ajax held out his hand. Johnson hesitated a moment--I recalled his hesitation afterwards--and then extended his hand, a singularly slender, well-formed member. "You have the hand of an artist," said the ever-curious Ajax. "The most beautiful hand I ever saw," replied Johnson imperturbably, "belonged to a--thief. Good-night." Ajax frowned, turning down the corners of his lips in exasperation. "I am eaten up with curiosity," he growled. * * * * *