"The question is," said Owen, "whether you can talk and act like a sort of reformed pirate."

"Leave that to me," he assured them, and led the way out of the saloon and into still another grimy and disreputable place. It was Axel Olofsen's pawnshop and second-hand general supply and clothing store.

After much pawing over ancient, worn and rusty weapons, Boyd was at last fitted out. Ole was paid about sixty per cent of what he asked and left to the enjoyment of his Scandinavian melancholy.

"You look like a pirate now, sure enough," said Owen, observing Boyd's effect on the driver of the taxicab.

"I look it, but I don't quite feel it yet," said Boyd, with deep meaning. "There is something lacking."

"What can it be?" asked Hicks.

"About three fingers of red-eye," the sailor explained, pointing to a saloon. "That will make my disguise just perfect."

In the saloon Hicks and Owen made a little map, wrinkled it and soiled it on the floor, then gave it to the pirate.

"Tell her," said Owen as he called for a taxi, "that it is only a copy of your original, which is all worn out."

The nearer they approached to the house the more talkative became the "pirate." He demanded to know more details of what was to be done, and finally assumed an air of authority.

"You say that rich girl is crazy to see something worth writin' about? Now, I know something better than pirates and buried treasure," shouted the pirate confidently.

"Yes, no doubt," Owen replied soothingly and with some alarm at the man's bravado. "But it's pirates she is interested in just now."