as we proceeded to the hotel. "What a jumble of names on the street signs!" And he was right—every nationality under the sun seemed to be represented.
We had just entered the hotel, a comfortable two-storied affair, and Oliver was signing the register, when I happened to glance out of the doorway and caught sight of a face which almost took away my breath.
"Great Cæsar!" I murmured, and staggered to a nearby settee.
"What is it?" cried Dan. "Are you sick? You look as white as a sheet."
"I—I have seen a ghost!" I gasped. "I—oh, can it be true? " and I staggered up and to the doorway.
Much alarmed, Dan and Oliver followed me, and each caught my arm as I hurried out on the pavement.
"What did you see, tell me?" insisted Dan.
"I saw Caleb Merkin!"
"Merkin!" they ejaculated in concert.
"Oh, Mark, you must have been mistaken!" said Oliver. "He is—is"
"No, he isn't dead. I saw him just as plainly as I see you, one arm and all."
"But where is he now?" asked Dan.
"I—I don't know. He was over there."
I pointed to a corner opposite, and both ran
