Captain Francis Newcombe studied the young man's face for a moment—he smiled disarmingly as he did so. Howard Locke was the son of a man of great wealth, the head of a great financial house, and of a family whose social status left nothing to be desired—and America was the Land of Promise! But one could be too eager!
"I'd like to," he said heartily; "but I fancy I've still quite a little trip ahead of me, and I'm afraid I'm a bit overdue already. As you say, I mentioned that I was going South. To be precise, I'm going down Florida way—or do you call it up?—as the guest of a Mr. Marlin."
Howard Locke removed the cigarette from his lips.
"Marlin?" he repeated. "Not Jonathan P. Marlin, by any chance?"
Captain Francis Newcombe nodded.
"Whew!" The young American whistled softly under his breath.
Captain Francis Newcombe lifted his eyebrows inquiringly.
"You know him?" he asked.
"No," Locke answered. "Not personally. I know of him, of course. Everybody does. And I don't want to be nosey and butt in, and you can heave that glass at me by way of reply if you like, but how in the world do you happen to know him?"
Captain Francis Newcombe smiled.