his cronies who were bound for the Hawaiian Islands."
"It's a great pity he got away," said Mr. Raymond. "The only safe place for such a rascal is behind the bars."
"Perhaps that sailor rig was only a disguise," suggested my father, who had not seen the man very closely.
"No; he had the regular cut and swing of a sailor," I answered. "But he was no man-o'-warsman even if he was an arm short."
"So you think you can tell an ordinary seaman from a navy man," laughed my father. "Well, perhaps. Would you know him again if you saw him?"
"We'd know one arm was missing," laughed Dan.
"Yes, I'd know him again," I answered. "He had fishy, shifty eyes that are not easily forgotten. I would like to know his name."
We talked about the one-armed sailor for the balance of the evening, but reached no conclusion concerning him, excepting that he might have become "stranded" in San Francisco and had taken to stealing for a living in preference to signing articles for another cruise. I did not know it then, but I was destined to meet the one-armed man again, much to my sorrow.
