"Let the band begin to play!" said Mr. Peter Cartwright; "it looks as if I'd better face the music. I wonder if he has any kinkle as to the man who did it? It's more than I have, unless it was Smith, or Sullivan."
As he drew his five thousand dollars a year and pickings partly through the grace of both the notorious boarding-house keepers that he mentioned, he did not relish running against them. Nevertheless, it was better to do that than run against a mightier snag. He looked, with a groan, at the pile of correspondence which had accumulated since the admiral's disappearance.
"And here's the British Consul wants to see me to-morrow!" he cried. "They'll cinch me if they can get no one else."
And he went on board the Triumphant feeling as if he was out of a job.
The admiral received him courteously, and was alone.
"This has been a bad business, admiral, sir," said Mr. Cartwright, "and as chief of police of this city I feel it as a personal slur. Your request to see me anticipated me by no more than twelve hours. I proposed to seek an interview with you to-morrow morning."
"I am obliged to you," said the admiral. "Will you have anything to drink?"
"It was rather cold on the water," replied Cartwright.
And when the chief of police had a tumbler of hot whiskey and water in both hands, the admiral opened up.
"I've sent for you, Mr. Cartwright," he began, "to tell you that I don't want any proceedings taken about this matter."