“He’s in bad now. Keenon, of the Secret Service, pinched him for makin’ queer money. The detective let him go when he promised to stay aboard the whaler until it went out.” The lambent light in Holy Joe’s eyes died to a restrospective glitter. Abie, keenly alert, detected a resolute movement of the missionary’s lips. They closed in a straight line. “I’ve heard of Keenon, Abie. So he arrested one of my converts? That is too bad!” “Got him dead, bang right! Caught him with th’ goods--molds and copper an’ a platin’ outfit. Then this Keenon lets him go.” “Were there any witnesses to the raid, Abie?” “Sure! A mate of th’ Bowhead saw th’ whole thing.” “What is the mate’s name?” “Hansen.” “How--did the Yetsky Wop get injured?” “A Chink hit him on th’ head. The Chink’s name is Hong Kee.” Abie thought he might as well pile matters on thick enough to make sure of getting Holy Joe out in the dingey. Hong Kee was a well known Barbary Coast character. The crimp was not surprised when Holy Joe started buttoning up a long black coat and looking about for a hat. “You’re comin’ with me, preacher?” “Most certainly! I shall be of some service, I hope. You haven’t explained how Hong Kee came to go to the whaler.” “Oh, Keenon caught him with five cans o’ hop. It was good hop. I saw it with my own eyes.” Abie was the only man in San Francisco who knew where the five cans were hidden at that particular minute. He intended selling them when the Bowhead was well out from shore soundings. “You get me,” he told Holy Joe after they left the mission hall. “You get me, preacher, when I tell you that I am Keenon. It’s not generally known.” The missionary did show some surprise. “Why, I never suspected that,” he said. “Are you the government detective?” Abie opened his coat, ran a thumb within the armhole of his checked vest, and showed the gold insignia that was pinned to his suspender strap. “United States Secret Service,” whispered Holy Joe. “I never knew it, Abie.” “Sure! I pinched those guys to-night, then I changed m’ mind an’ let ’em go--to th’ whaler. They started fightin’ among themselves--there’s some more out there--an’ Captain Gully sent word to me that Yetsky Wop was dyin’ an’ needed a preacher. I thought of you.” Abie searched for sign of Hansen at the shore end of Meigg’s wharf. He whistled shrilly. The mate, sleepy and damp, emerged from the shelter of a shed. “Right out to th’ Bowhead!” commanded the crimp. “I’ve kept my promise to Captain Gully. This is the man!” The mate was a silent soul. He started rowing with long whalerman’s strokes. Abie sat on the after thwart with Holy Joe. They faced the seaman whose glance was directed toward the Market Street ferry-house. The Bowhead was some little distance from the shore. It showed a pale riding-light on the foremast. No other ship was near the whaler. “So you are Keenon?” said the missionary suddenly. “Bet I am, preacher! Even my mother don’t know it.”