"By the way, Judge, excuse me." Woods dashes off a check for Hardin. "I want to retain you if the 'Shooting Star' people fool with my working the 'Golden Chariot;' I feel safe in your hands." Even Hardin can afford to pocket Joe's check. It is a prize. Golden bait, Joseph. Woods says "Good-bye," floridly, to his legal friend. He takes a coupe at the door. "Cute old devil, Hardin; I'll run him down yet," chuckles the miner. Joe is soon on his way to the Pacific Mail Steamship office. Several gray-headed officials greet the popular capitalist. He broaches his business. "I want to see your passenger lists for 1865." He has notes of Vimont's in his hand. While the underlings bring out dusty old folios, Joe distributes his pet cigars. He is always welcome. Looking over the ancient records he finds on a trip of the Golden Gate, the following entries: Madame de Santos, Miss Isabel Valois, Marie Berard and child. He calls the bookkeeper. "Can you tell about these people?" The man of ink scans the entry. He ponders and says: "I'll tell you who can give you all the information, Colonel Joe. Hardin was lawyer for this lady. He paid for their passages with a check. We note these payments for our cash references. Here is a pencil note: 'CK Hardin.' I remember Hardin coming himself." "Oh, that's all right!" says the Argonaut. An adjournment of "all hands," to "renew those pleasing assurances," is in order. "Ah, my old fox!" thinks Woods. "I am going to find out who gave Marie Berard that other child. But I won't ask YOU. YOUR TIME IS TOO VALUABLE, Judge Philip Hardin." He gives his driver an extra dollar at the old City Hall. Joe Woods thinks he is alone on the quest. He knows not that the Archbishop's secretary is reading some long Latin letters, not three blocks away, which are dated in Paris and signed Fran‡ois Ribaut. They refer to the records of the Mission Dolores parish. They invoke the aid of the all-seeing eye of the Church as to the history and rights of Isabel Valois. PŠre Ribaut humbly begs the protection of his Grace for his protege, Armand Valois, in case he visits California. Philip Hardin, in his office, weaving his golden webs, darkened here and there with black threads of crime, is deaf to the cry of conscience. What is the orphaned girl to him? A mere human puppet. He hears not the panther feet of the avengers of wrong on his trail. Blind insecurity, Judge Hardin. Woods has seized Captain Lee, and taken him out of his sanctum to the shades of the "Bank Exchange." The great detective captain, an encyclopedia of the unwritten history of San Francisco, regards Woods with a twinkle in his gray eye. The hunted, despairing criminal knows how steady that eye can be. It has made hundreds quail. Lee grins over his cigar. Another millionaire in trouble. "Some woman, surely." The only question is "What woman?" The fair sex play a mighty part in the mysteries of San Francisco.