"We want to talk to you," said the officer. "What is your name?"
"I am not ashamed of that," was the bold answer. "It is Caleb Merkin."
"These young men want to talk to you."
"I want to see that paper you were reading awhile ago," put in Oliver.
"This paper?" and Caleb Merkin held out a copy of one of the San Francisco daily newspapers.
"No; that document which belongs to me."
"I haven't anything belonging to you, young fellow," blustered the one-armed man, getting up. "Don't you dare to say I have, either."
"Do you deny that you were reading a bit of parchment yellow with age?"
"I certainly do."
Oliver turned to Dan. "What do you think of this?"
"He isn't telling the truth," was Dan's reply.
"Why don't you search him and his belongings?" I suggested.
"Do it, if you dare!" burst out Caleb Merkin. "I'm an honest sailor. Who are you, anyway? I never saw you before."
"Perhaps there is some mistake," said the ship's officer nervously. "You don't want to accuse the wrong man."
"I know this man, and so do my friends," an-
