a cigarette and sipping now and again at a glass
of absinthe which stood on a little round table at his elbow.
But of the Mauravanian or the Apaches or of the Oriental pedler,
there was neither sight nor sound, nor had there been since the
vessel started.

"What do you make of it?" queried Narkom, when at the end of an hour
the dim outlines of the French coast blurred the clear silver of the
moonlit sky. "Have we come on a wild goose chase, do you think? What
do you suppose has become of the Apaches and of the pedler chap?"

"Travellin' second class," said Dollops, after stealing out and
making a round of the vessel and creeping back into the shadow of
the lifeboat unseen. "Pallin' with 'em, he is, sir. Makin' a play of
sellin' 'em things for their donahs--for the sake of appearances.
One of 'em, he is; and if either that Frenchy or that Mauravanian
johnny is mixed up with them--lay low! Smeller to the ground, sir,
and eyes and ears wide open! We'll know wot's wot now!"

For of a sudden the Mauravanian had come into view far down the wet
and glistening promenade deck and was whistling a curious, lilting
air as he strolled along past the open door of the smoke-room.

Just the mere twitch of "Monsieur's" head told when he heard that
tune. He finished his absinthe, flung aside his cigarette, and
strolled leisurely out upon the deck. The Mauravanian was at the
after end of the promenade--a glance told him that. He set his face
resolutely in the direction of the bows and sauntered leisurely
along. He moved on quietly, until he came to the very end of the
covered promenade where the curving front of the deckhouse looked
out upon the spray-washed forward deck, then stopped and planted his
back against it and stood silently waiting, not ten feet distant
from where Narkom and Dollops crouched.

A minute later the Mauravanian, continuing what was to all
appearances a lonely and aimless promenade round the vessel,
came abreast of that spot and of him.

And then, the deluge!

"Monsieur" spoke out--guardedly, but in a clear, crisp tone that left
no room for doubt upon _one_ point, at least.

"Mon ami, it is done--it is accomplished," that crisp voice said.
"You shall report that to his Majesty's ministers. Voila, it is done!"

"It is not done!" replied the Mauravanian, in a swift, biting,
emphatic whisper. "You jump to conclusions too quickly. Here! take
this. It is an evening paper. The thing was useless--he was not
th