"I took absolutely nothing, and you know it."

"Then you want me to call in the officer?"

"Do as you please," said Randy, recklessly.

Peter Polk was nonplused. He did not want to call an officer. Yet he wanted to get the precious letter.

"You will save yourself a lot of trouble by giving up that letter, Thompson," he said, in a more subdued tone.

"Well, I don't intend to give it up."

"If I have you arrested I can send you to state's prison for five or ten years."

"I will risk it."

"What do you intend to do with that letter?" said the purser.

"That is my affair."

"Going to Mr. Shalley, eh?"

"Perhaps."

"It won't do you any good."

Again Randy was silent. He had stepped close to the door. On the instant Peter Polk did the same.

"You are not going just yet," cried the purser, meaningly.

Randy looked through the little window of the office. He heard footsteps approaching.

"Hullo there, Jones!" he called out.

"What's wanted?" came from the other deckhand.

"Come to the office, please."

In a moment Jones appeared. He was carrying a bucket of water and a deck swab.

"Now open that door," said Randy to Peter Polk. "No more nonsense, please."

"You are not wanted here, Jones!" cried the purser, angrily.

"You are wanted," said Randy. "Open the door. I want to get out."

Jones set down his pail and pulled on the door. Seeing resistance would be useless, Peter Polk allowed the door to come open. At once Randy stepped out into the gangway.

"I'll explain this to you some other time!" he called to the other deckhand, and then ran off before Peter Polk could stop him.

"Where are ye goin'?" called out Malloy, as he crossed the gang-plank.

"I'm off on business," answered our hero, and then paused for a moment.

"Tell Jones to keep an eye on Mr. Polk, will you, please? It is very important."

"I will," was the reply.

In a minute more Randy was hurrying up the street. He knew where Andrew Shalley was stopping and took a car to the location.

The place was a well-known hotel and in the corridor he met the steamboat owner, just ready to go out.

"Oh, Mr. Shalley, I want to see you!" he cried.

"What is it, Randy?"

"It's quite a story and very important."

"Then come to my room," and the steamboat owner led the way to the elevator.

As soon as they were in the room our hero told his story in all of its details and then produced the letter he had found. Andrew Shalley listened closely to the story and pondered over the letter for some time.

"Randy, have you any idea who this person who signs himself G. A. G.

can be?"

"I've been thinking that over, Mr. Shalley, and I have found out that there is a head clerk who works for Bann & Shadow, the wholesale grocers, whose name is George A. Gaffney. Gaffney used to come and see Polk once in a while."

"And we buy a great many things from Bann & Shadow," put in the steamboat owner.

"So we do."

"I will look this man Gaffney up at once."

With the steamboat owner to think was to act, and going below with our hero he consulted a directory and found that George A. Gaffney lived on West Twenty-sixth Street.

"I will call upon this fellow," said he. "You can go along."

They took a car on one of the avenues and got out at the corner of Twenty-sixth Street. They had to walk half a block. The neighborhood was not of the best, and Gaffney's residence proved to be a four-story apartment house. The man lived on the top floor with his wife and four small children.

George Gaffney was at home, sitting in his shirt sleeves by a front window, smoking a pipe. He was surprised to receive visitors at that hour.

"Is this Mr. George A. Gaffney?" questioned Andrew Shalley.

"That's my name."

"Are you a clerk for Bann & Shadow, the wholesale grocers?"

"I am."

"I would like to see you privately, Mr. Gaffney."