With what infinite care and patience had he gained this place! What
struggles had ensued! Like one of yonder birds he had been blown
about, but even with his eyes hunting for this resting. He had found
it and about lost it. A day or so later! He had come to rob, to lie,
to pillage, any method to gain his end; and fate had led him over this
threshold without dishonor, ironically. Even for that, thank God!

Dimly he heard Fitzgerald whistling in his room across. The sound
entered his ear, but not his trend of thought. God in Heaven what a
small place this earth was! In his hand, tightly clutched, was a ball
of paper, damp from the sweat of his palm. He had gnawed it, he had
pressed it in despair. Cathewe was a man, and he was not afraid of any
man living. Besides, men rarely became tellers of tales. But the
woman: Hildegarde von Mitter! How to meet her, how to look into her
great eyes, how to hear the sound of her voice!

He flung the ball of paper into the corner. She could break him as one
breaks a dry and brittle reed.




CHAPTER XII

M. FERRAUD INTRODUCES HIMSELF.

"Yessir, Mr. Donovan," said Captain Flanagan, his peg-leg crossed and
one hand abstractedly polishing the brass ferrule; "Yessir, the
question is, what did y' hear?"