, with
your empty gun! You are a nervy one, all right. I'll wager this
business ahead of us will be more to your liking than the one you leave
behind."

"What is it?" asked Martin. "Where are you going?"

"Not my story--I can't tell you, now," answered Little Billy. "You'll
find out tonight, after supper. There will be a pow-wow in the cabin,
and the Old Man and Miss Ruth will enlighten you then."

"Miss Ruth!" echoed Martin, thinking for the first time of the girl who
had innocently got him into this mess. "That is the girl! Then we got
the girl safely?"

"Oh, yes, she is aboard, and safe enough. She dressed your head--neat
job of bandaging she does. Well, Blake, I'll have to be about my
duties. I'm steward, you know. This is my room. You are to bunk with
me. I would advise you to get up on deck if you can manage it. There
is no cure for seasickness like being on your feet in fresh air. Don't
worry about your head--it is only a flesh wound, and it will heal in a
couple of days. And after supper you'll hear all about it. So long."

The door closed behind the sprightly little figure, and Martin was left
alone.

Alone, but with thoughts enough for company. He sat there with his
legs swinging over the side of the bunk, nursing his sore head and
trying to digest the information Little Billy had imparted.

He was troubled, yet somehow not depressed. His coward fears of a few
moments ago were gone, and he could face the situation now with
considerable aplomb. Of course, it was disturbing to learn that he was
probably a fugitive from justice; and with his knowledge of the law he
could very well appreciate the probably serious consequences of last
night's affair. Why, there were likely dead men in the city morgue as
a result, and old Smatt, judging himself betrayed by his clerk, might
swear him a murderer. He was a vindictive old man, Martin knew. And
Spulvedo--he knew he had shot Spulvedo; he had seen the man drop.

Martin felt a qualm at that remembrance--shooting a man was a new and
terrible experience, and his conscience had scruples concerning the
sanctity of human life. If Martin Blake could then have seen a few
months into the future....

Yet he had no regrets for the part he had played. He had been
headstrong, he knew, in so unreservedly joining forces with the strange
people of this strange ship. But what else could he have done and
retained his self-respect? A man, by George, owed