had not said he was crossing, and why had he not spoken
to her? He wandered past down the pier, and she lost him in the shadows.
When he came back he paused near her, and at last saluted and spoke.

"_Pardon_," he said. "If you will stand back here you will find less
wind."

"Thank you."

He carried her suitcase back, and stooping over to place it at her feet
he said: "I shall send him on board with a message to the captain. When
I come back try again."

He left her at once. The passengers for Boulogne were embarking now.
A silent lot, they disappeared into the warmth and brightness of the
little boat and were lost. No one paid any attention to Sara Lee
standing in the shadows.

Soon Henri came back. He walked briskly and touched his cap as he
passed. He went aboard the Boulogne steamer, and without a backward
glance disappeared.

Sara Lee watched him out of sight, in a very real panic. He had been
something real and tangible in that shadowy place--something familiar
in an unfamiliar world. But he was gone. She threw up her head.

So once more Sara Lee picked up her suitcase and went down the pier.
Now she was unchallenged. What lurking figure might be on the dark deck
of the Calais boat she could not tell. That was the chance she was to
take. The gangway was still out, and as quietly as possible she went
aboard. The Boulogne boat had suddenly gone dark, and she heard the
churning of the screw. With the extinction of the lights on the other
boat came at last deeper night to her aid. A few steps, a stumble, a
gasp--and she was on board the forbidden ship.

She turned forward, according to her instructions, where the overhead
deck made below an even deeper shadow. Henri had said that there were
cabins there, and that the chance was of finding an unlocked one. If
they were all locked she would be discovered at dawn, and arrested. And
Sara Lee was not a war correspondent. She was not accustomed to arrest.
Indeed she had a deep conviction that arrest in her case would mean death.
False, of course, but surely it shows her courage.

As she stood there, breathless and listening, the Boulogne boat moved
out. She heard the wash against the jetty, felt the rolling of its
waves. But being on the landward side she could not see the faint
gleam of a cigarette that marked Henri's anxious figure at the rail.
So long as the black hulk of the Calais boat was visible, and long
after indeed, Henri stood there, outwardly calm bu