At very nearly the hour when Bar Vernon and Val Manning set out for that day’s fishing on Skanigo, a big, well-dressed man was standing in the front door of an “east side” hotel in the great city, absorbed, apparently, in some deep and gloomy train of thought. “Not a trace of him,” he muttered. “Oh, what a fool I was to let him go! He never seemed half so valuable before. And then, those papers! Blessings brighten as they take their flight. Gone, completely gone, after keeping my hold on him and them so long. That’s what comes of getting too drunk. A fit of pity is sure to follow. Always so with me. Now, as far as I can see, my best hold is on these swells that have taken him in tow. No use trying to bully men like them. They’d only laugh at me. Only show is to sell out to ’em. They’d work it out better’n I could, anyway, seeing I’m debarred so many privileges; but they shan’t do it without letting me in for my share. I feel safe about Bar. He’ll never open that thing till the time comes. Queer fellow ’bout some things. Anyhow, I must make my trade before then. I’ll go right down to old Danvers’s office this very morning and set the wires a-working. Make hay while the sun shines.” A very important decision was that of Major Montague, and it might have had an immediate effect upon the tenor of Bar Vernon’s “new time,” if he had been permitted to carry it into effect. Alas for the Major and his plans, however, that sunny morning! On an opposite corner of the street, at that very moment, a tall, foreign-looking gentleman was leaning over and talking low to a short, broad, keen-eyed man, as he pointed in the direction of the Major. “That’s the chap. You might as well spot him now. May not have another chance. Of course it wouldn’t do to have him convicted. He’d squeal too loud. But he must be put out of the way for a while.” “Free board at a public institution for six months,” returned the short man. “Will that do, Prosper?” “That or thereabouts,” replied Prosper; “but he mustn’t see me. Go on.” And Prosper drew back and disappeared around the corner; but, in another minute, a hand was laid lightly on Major Montague’s arm, and an oddly deferential voice said to him: “My dear Major, you’re wanted.” Pale indeed grew the rosy face of the Major, for he seemed to need no second look to establish the identity of the new arrival. “Will you come up to my room with me and let me get my things?” he asked, huskily. “Not just now, thank you,” replied the short man, “but I’ll send for them and have them brought down to your new hotel for you.” Paler still grew the Major’s face, but, although half as large again as the short, broad man, he walked silently and unresistingly away with him. Why?