“Captain Trent, of the wreck? O yes, Mr. Dodd; he left about twelve; he and another of the men. The Kanaka went earlier by the City of Pekin; I know that; I remember expressing his chest. Captain Trent? I'll inquire, Mr. Dodd. Yes, they were all here. Here are the names on the register; perhaps you would care to look at them while I go and see about the baggage?” I drew the book toward me, and stood looking at the four names all written in the same hand, rather a big and rather a bad one: Trent, Brown, Hardy, and (instead of Ah Sing) Jos. Amalu. “Pinkerton,” said I, suddenly, “have you that _Occidental_ in your pocket?” “Never left me,” said Pinkerton, producing the paper. I turned to the account of the wreck. “Here,” said I; “here's the name. 'Elias Goddedaal, mate.' Why do we never come across Elias Goddedaal?” “That's so,” said Jim. “Was he with the rest in that saloon when you saw them?” “I don't believe it,” said I. “They were only four, and there was none that behaved like a mate.” At this moment the clerk returned with his report. “The captain,” it appeared, “came with some kind of an express waggon, and he and the man took off three chests and a big satchel. Our porter helped to put them on, but they drove the cart themselves. The porter thinks they went down town. It was about one.” “Still in time for the City of Pekin,” observed Jim. “How many of them were here?” I inquired. “Three, sir, and the Kanaka,” replied the clerk. “I can't somehow fin out about the third, but he's gone too.” “Mr. Goddedaal, the mate, wasn't here then?” I asked. “No, Mr. Dodd, none but what you see,” says the clerk. “Nor you never heard where he was?” “No. Any particular reason for finding these men, Mr. Dodd?” inquired the clerk. “This gentleman and I have bought the wreck,” I explained; “we wished to get some information, and it is very annoying to find the men all gone.” A certain group had gradually formed about us, for the wreck was still a matter of interest; and at this, one of the bystanders, a rough seafaring man, spoke suddenly. “I guess the mate won't be gone,” said he. “He's main sick; never left the sick-bay aboard the Tempest; so they tell ME.” Jim took me by the sleeve. “Back to the consulate,” said he. But even at the consulate nothing was known of Mr. Goddedaal. The doctor of the Tempest had certified him very sick; he had sent his papers in, but never appeared in person before the authorities. “Have you a telephone laid on to the Tempest?” asked Pinkerton. “Laid on yesterday,” said the clerk. “Do you mind asking, or letting me ask? We are very anxious to get hold of Mr. Goddedaal.” “All right,” said the clerk, and turned to the telephone. “I'm sorry,” he said presently, “Mr. Goddedaal has left the ship, and no one knows where he is.” “Do you pay the men's passage home?” I inquired, a sudden thought striking me.