Mr. Wall seemed in excellent spirits. He slapped Minot on the back. "If you say so, of course. Don't know exactly what they can do to us--but I think George needs the sea air. How about it, your lordship?" Poor old George, drooping as he had never drooped before, looked wearily into Wall's eyes. "What's the use?" he said. "Fight's all gone out of me. Losing interest in what's next. Three hours on that blooming ocean with the rain soaking in--I'm going to bed. I don't care what becomes of me." And he sloshed away to his cabin. "Well, boys, I'm afraid we'll have to put you off," said Martin Wall. "Glad to have met both of you. Sometime in New York we may run into each other again." He shook hands genially, and the two young men dropped once more into that unhappy launch. As they sped toward the shore the _Lileth_, behind them, was heading for the open sea. "Sorry if I've seemed to have a grouch to-night," said Paddock, as they walked up the deserted avenue toward the hotel. "But these Florida rain-storms aren't the pleasantest things to wear next to one's skin. I apologize, Dick." "Nonsense," Minot answered. "Old Job himself would have frowned a bit if he'd been through what you have to-night. It was my fault for getting you into it--" "Forget it," Paddock said. "Well, it looks like a wedding, old man. The letters home again, and George Harrowby headed for New York--a three days' trip. Nothing to hinder now. Have you thought of that?" "I don't want to think," said Minot gloomily. "Good night, old man." Paddock sped up the stairs to his room, which was on the second floor, and Minot turned toward the elevator. At that moment he saw approaching him through the deserted lobby Mr. Jim O'Malley, the house detective of the De la Pax. "Can we see you a minute in the office, Mr. Minot?" he asked. "Certainly," Minot answered. "But--I'm soaked through--was out in all that rain--" "Too bad," said O'Malley, with a sympathetic glance. "We won't keep you but a minute--" He led the way, and wondering, Minot followed. In the tiny office of the hotel manager a bullet-headed man stood waiting. "My friend, Mr. Huntley, of the Secret Service," O'Malley explained. "Awful sorry that this should happen. Mr. Minot but--we got to search you." "Search me--for what?" Minot cried. And in a flash, he knew. Through that wild night he had not once thought of it. But it was still in his inside coat pocket, of course. Chain Lightning's Collar! "What does this mean?" he asked. "That's what they all say," grunted Huntley. "Come here, my boy. Say, you're pretty wet. And shivering! Better have a warm bath and a drink. Turn around, please. Ah--"