“Steve!” a voice whispered to me; and I jumped about.
Jerry had come up beside me at the edge of the lake. This time he was alone.
He was not in deckhand’s garb and Mackinaw coat; he wore a plain, dark jacket and felt hat. I could not plainly see his face; the light from the lamps on the Drive gave me only glints on his cheekbone and nose and chin and in his eyes turned to mine, but enough to make me know Jerry.
Then I remembered I’d known the man in the warehouse basement for Jerry when he was speaking to me.
“Hello,” I said.
“Steve, he called on you to-day!”
“Who?”
“Keeban!”
I stopped and thought a minute; and I was shaking. “Oh,” I asked him, “where was that?”
“You know,” he came back. “I don’t; but didn’t he see you?”