him an
appearance of another day. I could almost imagine I caught the gleam of
silver-butted horse pistols and cutlasses at his waist.

I brooded in wonder at what I had seen and how little I had explained.
The number of boats, sufficient for a craft of three times the tonnage;
the capacity of the forec'stle with its eighteen bunks, enough for a
passenger ship,--what did it mean? And this wild, unkempt, villainous
crew with its master and his almost ridiculous contrast of neatness and
filth;--did Dr. Schermerhorn realise to what he had trusted himself and
his precious expedition, whatever it might be?

The lights of shore had sunk; the _Laughing Lass_ staggered and
leaped joyously with the glory of the open sea. She seemed alone on the
bosom of the ocean; and for the life of me I could not but feel that I
was embarked on some desperate adventure. The notion was utterly
illogical; that I knew well. In sober thought, I, a reporter, was
shadowing a respectable and venerable scientist, who in turn was probably
about to investigate at length some little-known deep-sea conditions or
phenomena of an unexplored island. But that did not suffice to my
imagination. The ship, its surroundings, its equipment, its crew--all
read fantastic. So much the better story, I thought, shrugging my
shoulders at last.

III

THE TWELVE REPEATING RIFLES

After my watch below the next morning I met Percy Darrow. In many ways he
is, or was, the most extraordinary of my many acquaintances. During that
first half hour's chat with him I changed my mind at least a dozen times.
One moment I thought him clever, the next an utter ass; now I found him
frank, open, a good companion, eager to please,--and then a droop of his
blond eyelashes, a lazy, impertinent drawl of his voice, a hint of
half-bored condescension in his manner, convinced me that he was shy and
affected. In a breath I appraised him as intellectual, a fool, a shallow
mind, a deep schemer, an idler, and an enthusiast. One result of his
spasmodic confidences was to throw a doubt upon their accuracy. This
might be what he desired; or with equal probability it might be the
chance reflection of a childish and aimless amiability.

He was tall and slender and pale, languid of movement, languid of eye,
languid of speech. His eyes drooped, half-closed beneath blond brows; a
long wiry hand lazily twisted a rather affected blond moustache, his
voice drawled his speech in a manner either