ention of
fools!"

"How do you want me to act?" asked Cleigh, surrendering absolutely.

"When he comes to, take his hand. You don't have to say anything else."

"All right."

From Dennison's lips came a deep, long sigh. Jane leaned over.

"Denny?" she whispered.

The lids of Dennison's eyes rolled back heavily.

"Jane--all right?" he asked, quickly.

"Yes. How do you feel?"

He reached out a hand whence her voice came. She met the hand with hers,
and that seemed to be all he wanted just then.

"You'd better get your bathrobe, Mr. Cleigh," she suggested.

Cleigh became conscious for the first time of the condition of his pyjama
jacket. It hung upon his torso in mere ribbons. He became conscious also
of the fact that his body ached variously and substantially.

"Thirty-odd years since I was in a racket like this. I'm getting along."

"And on the way," put in Cunningham, "you might call Cleve. I'd feel
better--stretched out."

"Oh, I had forgotten!" cried Jane, reproaching herself. Weakened as he
was, and sitting in a chair!

"And don't forget, Cleigh, that I'm master of the _Wanderer_ until I leave
it. I sympathize deeply," Cunningham went on, ironically, "but I have some
active troubles of my own."

"And God send they abide with you always!" was Cleigh's retort.

"They will--if that will give you any comfort. Do you know what? You will
always have me to thank for this. That will be my comforting thought. The
god in the car!"

Later, when Cleve helped Cunningham into his bunk, the latter asked about
the crew.

"Scared stiff. They realize that it was a close shave. I've put the fools
in irons. They're best there until we leave. But we can't do anything but
forget the racket when we board the Dutchman. Where's that man Flint? We
can't find him anywhere. He's at the bottom of it. I knew that sooner or
later there'd be the devil to pay with a woman on board. Probably the
fool's hiding in the bunkers. I'll give every rat hole a look-see. Pretty
nearly got you."

"Flint was out of luck--and so was I! I thought in pistols, and forgot
that there might be a knife or two. I'll be on my feet in the morning.
Little weak, that's all. Nobody and nothing!" said Cunningham, addressing
the remark to the crossbeam above his head.

"What's that?" asked Cleve.

"I was thinking out loud. Get back to the chart house. Old Newton may play
us some trick if he isn't watched. And don't bother to search for Flint. I
know