The gambler stepped from the shadowed corner of the bridge, a faint smile on his face as he hefted a small stack of gold eagles in his left hand, turning and jostling them with his nimble cardsharp fingers, clinking the sound that every human ear responds to - the ring of gold -- in such a way that he quickly had the attention of all present.

"Before we laugh too long at Mister de Mornay's hypothesis," he said in a deep and calming baritone, "I believe you might be interested in this particular medallion, which I had from the guttersnipe who filched it from the trapper's bag yesterday morning on the foredeck."

He drew from an inside pocket the medallion he had recovered from the boy, and wrapping it's heavy chain around his wrist, held it forward. Thicker by half than any other, it was bestudded by a strange array of jewels, some round, some faceted, in deep unearthly scarlet and ocean-blue hues.

"Observe, before you laugh again, this interesting effect..."

He pressed the largest jewel, a deep scarlet stone centrally embedded in the gold just above the strange etched silhouette of the leaping fish, and his audience froze.

From the base of the medallion an indescribable light, a vaporish mist of luminescence, projected like some demonic magic-lantern show into the space around which the watchers pressed. In moments an image began to materialize ... a human, but yet not quite -- male, yet bedecked with subtle ornamentation usually reserved for feminine decor -- slender, his yellowish hair pushed rudely back, but cut well short, a look of consternation only slightly modulated by humor in the lines of his clean-shaven face. The lips began to move, as though the man himself were among them, an unthinkable notion to those present -- a moving daguerrotype!?? Their awed silence deepened when the medallion began to emit sound, clearly accompanying the motion of the vibrant, cloudy image.

"This is Mudcat Radio, and we are seeking the Cat's Paw Forty Nine. We urgently need his help. THis is Mudcat Radio, calling for the Cat's Paw Forty-Nine. We urgently need his help...." As suddenly as it appeared, the image faded and the luminous cloud vanished.

The gambler smiled.

"More things there are under hevaen, than in all your philosophy, my friends. Perhaps Mister de Mornay, the master of speculation as well as of the rare Orinico blow-dart, can offer us another layer of explanation. "

He drew the derringer from his waistband, leveled it at the portly actor's brow.

"Assuming, of course, that he felt appropriately motivated to provide some such revelation to a boatful of undeserving admirers...".

The steely click of the upper barrel being cocked at de Mornay's temple sent an icy wind of apprehension through the company.

All eyes were on the frozen tableau before them, the steely-eyed gambler whose strong hands never wavered, the lethal derringer, the disheveled and sweating actor, and the mysterious vellum document held in de Mornay's limp hand.