As they talked, a customer with a nautical gait, and somewhat the worse for drink, rolled in and sat down. The communicative host served him, and then whispered to Fred that he thought the man was a deserter from the French ship, who had been keeping pretty quiet till his vessel left port, and was now taking advantage of his stolen freedom. The man was a tough-looking customer, unmistakably a seaman, in spite of his ill-fitting shore clothes; and as Fred sat watching him from across the room an idea sprang up and gradually developed in his mind. If this man was the deserter whom the officer had told him of, he might possibly have run away as a result of Renard's visit to the ship, if Renard was the stranger who had gone aboard. Therefore he might know Renard; he might even know where Renard lived--perhaps Renard was giving him shelter! Fred grew very much excited as these thoughts flashed through his mind, and determined to follow the man and see where he went. The latter, however, seemed to be in no haste to give the young detective a chance to pursue his investigations. He sat in the café until nearly six o'clock. Then he paid his reckoning and tacked up the street to the elevated railroad station. Fred boarded the same train, and followed his man down to South Ferry, where they both went aboard a Staten Island boat, and on reaching St. George took a train and rode for a short distance toward South Beach. It was easy for Fred to follow the sailor when they left the train, for darkness had come on an hour ago. The Frenchman led the way through the village, and tramped for half a mile or more along a lonely road that led inland, over a hill and across country, until they came to a two-story cottage with a picket fence around it. The sailor staggered through the gate and up the steps, and opened the door and went in, slamming it behind him, and Fred was left outside in the darkness alone. He sat down by the way-side to think over the situation, watching the house as he did so; but no sound came to his ears, and as the shades were drawn at the windows of the one room in which a light shone, he saw nothing. When he had come to the conclusion that there was little to be gained by sitting out in the dampness staring at a blank wall, he trudged back to the village, to make inquiries of the station agent and the town watchman. "There's somethin' queer about them folks, I guess," the watchman said. "There was another man askin' me about 'em--'bout a week ago."