l the paper away.
I'll be round again in the morning before any one's up, at about five
o'clock. Don't let them scare you. I'm doing things."

"Bless you!" he called out.

"Do you like this bathing suit, or do you prefer the one I wore
yesterday?"

"You look divine," he answered. "So do these beef sandwiches."

"What luck those apertures slope downwards," she said, "or you
couldn't see me!"

"The luck of my life," he agreed, with his mouth full.

"Do you know why they do slope downwards?" she asked.

"No idea."

"So that prisoners, when they get tired of it, can roll down into the
sea."

"I shan't be tired of this for a long time," he assured her.

There was a pause. Jacob ceased eating for a moment to gaze with
admiration at the girl in the boat, carried up and down by the swell,
but balancing herself always with an amazing confidence.

"I say, I'm awfully sorry about this," she called up.

"Seems a trifle feudal," he replied. "What will be done with my
remains?"

"You eat your sandwiches and don't worry," she insisted. "I told you I
was doing things. If they get violent, I'll take a hand.--I'll have to
get back unless I want to be swamped."...

Jacob ate half his sandwiches, drank a good deal of whisky and water,
and took a little exercise. He then had a nap, woke up and finished
his sandwiches with an amazingly good appetite, had another whisky and
water and thrust the flask into his pocket. He lit a cigarette,
doubled up his coat, and was lounging against the wall when he heard
the key once more turn in the lock of the downstairs door. There was
the sound of ascending footsteps, and presently Montague's glittering
shirt front appeared through the grating. Joe Hartwell again was by
his side. They peered in.

"Cheerio!" Jacob exclaimed.

Montague was a little taken aback.

"You're bearing up pretty well," he observed.

"What have I got to bear up about?" Jacob demanded. "I've just had a
damned good meal."

Montague regarded his prisoner with a gleam of admiration in his face.

"You're a well plucked 'un, Pratt," he observed. "What a saddle of
mutton we've just had for dinner!"

"Nothing to the sirloin I've just had," Jacob rejoined.

Hartwell pushed a flask of water and a hunk of bread through the
grating.

"Here," he said, "do you feel like giving a tenner for a whisky and
soda?"

"I'm not thirsty, thanks," Jacob replied, collecting his supper.
"These will make an excellent meal for