After receiving his delayed degree Carrington began a tour around the world. In the court of the Palace Hotel, the day of his departure from San Francisco, a commonplace-looking man stepped up to him briskly, and said, placing a hand on his shoulder: "Presidio, you've got a nerve to come back here. You, to the ferry; or with me to the captain!" Carrington turned his full face toward the man for the first time as he brushed aside the hand with some force. The man reddened, blinked, and then stammered: "Excuse me, but you did look so--Say, you must excuse me, for I see that you are a gentleman." "Isn't Presidio a gentleman?" Carrington asked, good-naturedly, when he saw that the man's confusion was genuine. "Why, Presidio is--do you mind sitting down at one of these tables? I feel a little shaky--making such a break!" He explained that he was the hotel's detective, and had been on the city's police force. In both places he had dealings with a confidence man, called Presidio--after the part of the city he came from. Presidio was an odd lot; had enough skill in several occupations to earn honest wages, but seemed unable to forego the pleasure of exercising his wit in confidence games and sneak-thievery. Among his honest accomplishments was the ability to perform sleight-of-hand tricks well enough to work profitably in the lesser theater circuits. He had married a woman who made part of the show Presidio operated for a time--a good-looking woman, but as ready to turn a confidence trick as to help her husband's stage work, or do a song and dance as an interlude. They had been warned to leave San Francisco for a year, and not to return then, unless bringing proof that they had walked in moral paths during their exile. "And you mistook me for Presidio?" asked Carrington, with the manner of one flattered. "For a second, and seeing only your side face. Of course, I saw my mistake when you turned and spoke to me. Presidio is considered the best-looking crook we've ever had." "Now, that's nice! Where did you say he's gone?" "I don't know." Carrington found that out for himself. He first interrupted his voyage by a stop of some weeks in Japan. Later, at the Oriental Hotel in Manila, the day of his arrival there, he saw a man observing him with smiling interest, a kind of smile and interest which prompted Carrington to smile in return. He was bored because the only officer he knew in the Philippines was absent from Manila on an expedition to the interior; and the man who smiled looked as if he might scatter the blues if he were permitted to try. The stranger approached with a bright, frank look, and said, "Don't you remember me, Mr. Carrington?" "No-o." "I was head waiter at the St. Dunstan." "Oh, were you? Well, your face has a familiar look, somehow." "Excuse my speaking to you, but I guess your last trip was what induced me to come out here." "That's odd."