Clarence sent a note to the bank, excusing his absence on the plea of sickness, and going to a livery stable, hired a wagon and a pair of horses, with which he drove through the Golden Gate Park to Captain Foster's Cliff House.
On his way he looked frequently at a photograph which Maltravers had given him, underneath which was written the name "Jack Harkaway."
When he reached the Cliff House he put his horse under the shed and entered the bar-room.
Jack was already there, smoking a cigar by the window, and looking out at the seals on the rocks in the sea.
"Mr. Harkaway, I believe," said Clarence.
"That is my name, sir," replied Jack. "What is your business with me?"
"I am commissioned to give you a letter."
Jack took the proffered epistle from his hand, and tearing open the envelope, read the contents, which were as follows:
"I find it impossible to meet you to-day, as appointed, as I am making preparations to leave San Francisco at once, but I should like to see you this evening at the California Theatre. I have Box B. I will formally give up all claims to a certain lady's hand, and if you will let me alone I will not molest you any more.
"M."
"Thank you," said Jack.