Elliott had expected to find an Oriental city; he had looked for a sort of maze¹ of black alleys², ivory lattices, temples, minarets³, and a medley⁴ of splendour and squalor; but in his surprise at the reality he said that Bombay was almost like an American city. There was squalor and splendour enough, but they were not as he had imagined them; and at the first sight of the wide, straight, busy streets he felt a great relief, realizing that his detective work would not have to be pursued under such “Arabian Night” conditions as he had anticipated.  
At the landing-stage he surrendered himself to a white-robed and barefoot native runner, who claimed to represent Ward’s Anglo-Indian Hotel, and this functionary⁵ at once bundled him into a ricksha which started off at a trot⁶. So unfamiliar⁷ a mode of locomotion⁸ revived some of Elliott’s primal⁹ expectations of the East, and the crowds that filled the street from house-front to house-front helped to strengthen them. The populace, as Elliott observed with surprise, were nearly as black as the negroes at home, clad in every variety and colour of costume, brilliant as a garden of tulips, and through the dense¹⁰ mass his ricksha man forced a passage by screaming unintelligible¹¹ abuse at the top of his voice. Occasionally a black victoria clove¹² its slow way past him, bearing a white-clad Englishman, who gazed unseeingly over the swarming¹³ mass; and Elliott for the first time breathed the smell of the East, that compound of heat and dust and rancid butter and perspiring¹⁴ humanity that somehow strangely suggests the yellow marigold flowers that hang in limp clusters in the marketplaces of all Bengal.
 
At the hotel, a gigantic and imposing¹⁵ structure, he was received by a Eurasian in a frock coat and no shoes, who assigned him to a vast bedroom, cool and darkened and almost large enough to play tennis in. Elliott examined the unfamiliar appurtenances with some curiosity, and then took a delicious dip in the bathroom that opened from his chamber¹⁶. He then changed his clothes and went down-stairs, determined¹⁷ to lose no time in visiting the United States Consulate¹⁹.
 
The mate of the Clara McClay, as the only surviving officer, was required to report the circumstances of the loss of his ship to the American consul¹⁸; and self-interest, as much as law, should equally have impelled²⁰ him to do so. For by reporting the foundering²¹ of the steamer in deep water he would clear himself of responsibility, and at the same time close the case and check any possible investigation²² into the whereabouts of the wreck²³.
 
But Elliott learned at once that the white man in India is not supposed to exert himself. The manager of the house, to whom he applied²⁴ for information, placed him in a long cane²⁵ chair while a ricksha was being called, and then installed him in the baby-carriage conveyance²⁶, giving elaborate instructions in the vernacular²⁷ to the native motor. And again the vivid panorama²⁸ of the streets unrolled before Elliott’s eyes under the blinding sun-blaze,—the closely packed crowd of white head-dresses, the nude²⁹ torsos, bronze and black, the gorgeous silks, and violent-hued cottons rolling slowly over the earthen pavement that was packed hard by millions of bare feet.
 
The gridiron shield with the eagle looked home-like to Elliott when he set eyes on it, but he found the official representative of the United States to be a brass³⁰-coloured Eurasian, who seemed to have some recollection of the Clara McClay or her mate, but was either unable or unwilling³¹ to impart any information. He was the consular³² secretary; the consul was out at the moment, but he returned just as Elliot was turning away in disappointment. He was a rubicund³³ gentleman of middle age, from Ohio, as Elliott presently learned, and proud of the fact. He wore a broad straw hat of American design—Heaven knows how he had procured³⁴ it in that land—and, to Elliott’s unbounded amazement³⁵, he was accompanied by his own steamer acquaintance, the Alabaman Sevier.
 
Elliott nodded to Sevier, trying to conceal³⁶ his consternation³⁷, and was for going away immediately, but the secretary was, after all, only too anxious to give assistance.
 
“Be pleased to wait a moment, sir. This is the consul. Mr. Guiger, this gentleman is asking if we know anything of the position of the mate of the wrecked³⁸ American steamer, called the Clara McClay.”
 
“His position? By Jupiter, I wish I knew it!” ejaculated the consul, mopping his face, but showing a more than physical warmth. “This other gentleman here has just been asking me the same thing, and I’ve had a dozen wires from the owners in Philadelphia.”
 
Elliott was thunderstruck at this revelation of Sevier’s interest in the matter, but it was too late to draw back.
 
“I was asked to make inquiries³⁹ by relatives of one of the crew,” he said, mendaciously⁴⁰. “Has the mate showed up here at all?”
 
“Showed up? Of course he did. He had to, by Jupiter! But it was his business to keep in touch with me till the case was gone into and settled. He gave me an address on Malabar Hill,—too swell⁴¹ a locality for a sailorman, thinks I,—and, sure enough, when I sent there for him, they had never heard of him. I’ve not set eyes on him since. He’ll lose his ticket, that’s all.”
 
“What sort of a report did he make?”
 
“Why, nothing. Said the ship was rotten, and her cargo⁴² shifted in a gale⁴³ and some of her rivets⁴⁴ must have drawn⁴⁵, and she foundered⁴⁶. Every one went down but himself,—all drunk, I suppose. But he didn’t even make a sworn statement. Said he’d come back next day, and I was in a hurry myself, and I let him go, like a fool.”
 
“You don’t know whether he’s still in the city?”
 
“I don’t know anything. I’ve set the police to look for him, but these black-and-tan cops don’t amount to anything. He may be half-way to Australia by this time. Like as not he is.”
 
“Where did he say his ship foundered?” asked Sevier, speaking for the first time.
 
“Somewhere in the Mozambique Channel, in deep water. He didn’t know exactly. Along about latitude⁴⁷ twelve, south, he said. Went down like a lump of lead.”
 
Elliott thought of her weighty cargo, and, glancing up, he met Sevier’s eye fixed⁴⁸ keenly on him.
 
“Well, if the man can’t be found, I suppose that’s the end of it,” he said, carelessly, and turned away again.
 
“Sorry I can’t help you, gentlemen,” responded the consul. “If I get any news, I’ll let you know. You don’t happen to have brought out any American newspapers, do you—Chicago ones, for choice?”
 
Elliott was devoid⁴⁹ of these luxuries, and Sevier followed him out to the street, where the ricksha was still waiting.
 
“Is that your perambulator?” inquired the Alabaman. “Let’s walk a little. The streets aren’t so crowded here.”
 
“It’s undignified for a white man to walk in this country, but I’ll make my ricksha man follow me,” said Elliott. “Besides, I couldn’t find my way back to the hotel without him.”
 
They walked for several minutes in silence down the side of the street that was shaded by tall buildings of European architecture.
 
“Were you ever at a New Orleans Mardi Gras? Hanged if this town doesn’t remind me of it!” Sevier suddenly broke silence. “By the way, I didn’t know that you were interested in the Clara McClay.”
 
“I’m not,” said Elliott, on the defensive⁵⁰. “I was simply making inquiries on behalf of other people, to get some details about her loss. You seem to have more interest than that in her yourself.”
 
“Oh, my interest is a purely⁵¹ business one,” replied Sevier, lightly. “I know her owners pretty well, and they wired me from Philadelphia to find out something about her. I found the cablegram waiting for me when I got here. Funny thing that the mate should disappear that way. Something crooked⁵², eh?”
 
“Possibly. Queer things happen on the high seas. It looks as if he were afraid of something.”
 
“Or after something. I’ve heard of ships being run ashore⁵³ for insurance.”
 
“But the Clara McClay didn’t run ashore,” Elliott reminded him. “She foundered in deep water, you know.”
 
“Oh, yes, she foundered in deep water,” drawled Sevier. “Have you got the spot marked on your map?”
 
This attack was so sudden and so unexpected that Elliott floundered.
 
“That map you have in your pocket, with her course marked in red,” Sevier pursued, relentlessly⁵⁴.
 
“That map you saw on the steamer? That wasn’t a chart of the Clara McClay’s course. Or, at least,” Elliott went on, recovering his wind, “I don’t suppose it is, accurately⁵⁵. I drew it to see if I could make out where she must have sunk, by a sort of dead reckoning. You see, I felt a certain interest in her on account of the inquiries I was commissioned to make. Nobody knows exactly what her course was.”
 
“Nobody but the mate, and he’s skipped the country. Well, I hope you find him, for the sake of the bereaved⁵⁶ kinfolk.”
 
He turned a humourous and incredulous glance at Elliott, and its invitation to frankness was unmistakable. Had Elliott been alone in the affair he might have responded, and taken his companion as a partner. But he had not the right to do that; there were men enough to share the plunder⁵⁷ already; but he was possessed⁵⁸ with curiosity to learn what Sevier knew, and, above all, what he wanted. Sevier had learned nothing from Bennett; he could have learned nothing from the mate, else he would not be in pursuit of him. How then could he know what cargo the Clara McClay had carried?
 
They walked a little further, talking of the features of interest like a pair of Cook’s tourists, while the ricksha man marched stolidly⁵⁹ behind.
 
“Queer that Burke didn’t know where she went down!” said Sevier, as if to himself.
 
“Who’s Burke?” asked Elliott, on the alert this time.
 
“The mate of the Clara McClay. Didn’t you know his name? I got it from the owners. They’re wild about him; swear they’ll have his certificate taken from him. It seems he hasn’t reported a word to them, and all they know is a newspaper item saying that he was picked up from the wreck.”
 
“Was all that in your cablegram?” demanded Elliott, with malice⁶⁰.
 
“They told me that in Philadelphia, before I left,” Sevier replied, imperturbably⁶¹.
 
This was just possible, but, after a rapid mental calculation of dates, Elliott decided⁶² that it was unlikely. Besides, why should the owners have cabled, if they had seen their messenger just before he sailed? But he had already arrived at the conviction that Sevier’s explanation of his interest in the treasure-ship was as fictitious⁶³ as his own.
 
“Isn’t it likely,” he said, easily, “that the mate was drunk and navigated⁶⁴ her out of her course, and ran her ashore? He knows that he’s responsible for her loss, and he’s afraid to face a court of inquiry⁶⁵.”
 
“He’ll sure lose his certificate anyway, if he doesn’t show up. Besides, he didn’t run her ashore. She went down in deep water.”
 
“Sure enough, she went down in deep water,” Elliott acquiesced⁶⁶. A strong sense of the futility⁶⁷ of this fencing stole over him, and he turned abruptly⁶⁸ and

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