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“Stopthis，Pinkerton。”Ibrokein。“Iknowtheaddress：924
MissionStreet。”
IdonotknowwhetherPinkertonorBellairswasthemoretakenaback。
“Whyinsnakesdidn’tyousayso，Loudon？”criedmyfriend。
“Youdidn’taskforitbefore。”saidI，colouringtomytemplesunderhistroubledeyes。
ItwasBellairswhobrokesilence，kindlysupplyingmewithallthatIhadyettolearn。“SinceyouknowMr。Dickson’saddress。”saidhe，plainlyburningtoberidofus，“IsupposeI
needdetainyounolonger。”
IdonotknowhowPinkertonfelt，butIhaddeathinmysoulaswecamedowntheoutsidestair，fromthedenofthisblotchedspider。Mywholebeingwasstrung，waitingforJim’sfirstquestion，andpreparedtoblurtout，Ibelieve，almostwithtears，afullavowal。Butmyfriendaskednothing。
“Wemusthackit。”saidhe，tearingoffinthedirectionoftheneareststand。“Notimetobelost。YousawhowIchangedground。Nouseinpayingtheshyster’scommission。”
AgainIexpectedareferencetomysuppression；againIwasdisappointed。ItwasplainJimfearedthesubject，andIfeltI
almosthatedhimforthatfear。Atlast，whenwewerealreadyinthehackanddrivingtowardsMissionStreet，Icouldbearmysuspensenolonger。
“Youdonotaskmeaboutthataddress。”saidI。
“No。”saidhe，quicklyandtimidly。“Whatwasit？Iwouldliketoknow。”
Thenoteoftimidityoffendedmelikeabuffet；mytemperroseashotasmustard。“Imustrequestyoudonotaskme。”saidI。
“ItisamatterIcannotexplain。”
Themomentthefoolishwordsweresaid，thatmomentIwouldhavegivenworldstorecallthem：howmuchmore，whenPinkerton，pattingmyhand，replied：“Allright，dearboy；notanotherword；that’salldone。I’mconvincedit’sperfectlyright。”Toreturnuponthesubjectwasbeyondmycourage；butIvowedinwardlythatIshoulddomyutmostinthefutureforthismadspeculation，andthatIwouldcutmyselfinpiecesbeforeJimshouldloseonedollar。
WehadnosoonerarrivedattheaddressthanIhadotherthingstothinkof。
“Mr。Dickson？He’sgone。”saidthelandlady。
Wherehadhegone？
“I’msureIcan’ttellyou。”sheanswered。“Hewasquiteastrangertome。”
“Didheexpresshisbaggage，ma’am？”askedPinkerton。
“Hadn’tany。”wasthereply。“Hecamelastnightandleftagainto-daywithasatchel。”
“Whendidheleave？”Iinquired。
“Itwasaboutnoon。”repliedthelandlady。“Someonerangupthetelephone，andaskedforhim；andIreckonhegotsomenews，forheleftrightaway，althoughhisroomsweretakenbytheweek。Heseemedconsiderableputout：Ireckonitwasadeath。”
Myheartsank；perhapsmyidioticjesthadindeeddrivenhimaway；andagainIaskedmyself，Why？andwhirledforamomentinavortexofuntenablehypotheses。
“Whatwashelike，ma’am？”Pinkertonwasasking，whenI
returnedtoconsciousnessofmysurroundings。
“Acleanshavedman。”saidthewoman，andcouldbeledordrivenintonomoresignificantdescription。
“Pullupatthenearestdrug-store。”saidPinkertontothedriver；
andwhenthere，thetelephonewasputinoperation，andthemessagespedtothePacificMailSteamshipCompany’soffice——
thiswasinthedaysbeforeSpreckelshadarisen——“WhendoesthenextChinasteamertouchatHonolulu？”
“TheCityofPekin；shecastoffthedockto-day，athalf-pastone。”camethereply。
“It’saclearcaseofbolt。”saidJim。“He’sskipped，ormyname’snotPinkerton。He’sgonetoheadusoffatMidwayIsland。”
SomehowIwasnotsosure；therewereelementsinthecase，notknowntoPinkerton——thefearsofthec
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