iceberg. The doctor
seemed to be in the same rare vein of humor as overnight. Lund stood at
the rail with his beak of a nose wrinkled, snuffing toward the icy crags
that were spouting a dazzle of white flame, set about with smaller,
sudden flares of ruby, emerald and sapphire.

"Close shave, that, Rainey," called Carlsen. "She turned turtle on us."

"Too close to be pleasant," said Rainey, and went to the wheel. The girl
had given him a smile, but he marked her face as weary from
sleeplessness and strain. Rainey left the spokes in charge of Hansen for
a minute--Hansen stolid and chewing like an automaton, undisturbed by
the incident now it had passed--and asked the girl how her father was.

"I am afraid--" she began, then glanced at Carlsen.

"He is not at all well," said the doctor, facing Rainey, his face away
from the girl. As he spoke he left his mouth open for a moment, his
tongue showing between his white teeth, in a grin that was as mocking as
that of a wolf, mirthless, ruthless, triumphant. And for a fleeting
second his eyes matched it.

Rainey restrained a sudden desire to smash his fist into that sardonic
mask. This was the day of Carlsen's anticipated victory, the first of
his calculated moves toward check-mate, and he was palpably enjoying it.

"Not--at--all--well," repeated Carlsen slowly. "He needs something to
bring him out of himself, as he now is. A little excitement. Yet he
should not be crossed in any way. We shall see."

He shifted his position and looked at the girl much as a wolf, not
particularly hungry, might look at a tethered lamb. His tongue just
touched the inner edges of his lips. It was as if the wolf had licked
his chops.

"Carlsen would be a bad loser," Lund had once said, "and a nasty winner.
He'd want to rub it in as soon as he knew he had you beat."

Rainey gripped the spokes hard until he felt the pressure of his bones
against the wood. Carlsen's attitude had had one good effect. His
nervousness had disappeared, and a cold rage taken its place. He could
cheerfully have attempted to throttle Carlsen without fear of his gun.
For that matter, he had faced the pistol once and come off best. What a
fool he had been, though, to let Carlsen regain his automatic! Now he
was anxious for the landfall, keen for the show-down.

Far on the horizon, northward, he sighted glimmering flashes of milky
whiteness that came and went to the swing of the schooner. This could
not be land, he deci