eded to the condition and offered odds on the proposition to
the others, but there were no takers.

"That settles it," he smiled grimly to himself. "I can make a thousand
dollars by staying here and I can't afford to escape."

On the third day of Monty's imprisonment the "Flitter" began to roll
heavily. At first he gloated over the discomfort of his guards, who
obviously did not like to stay below. "Subway" Smith and Bragdon were
on duty and neither was famous as a good sailor. When Monty lighted his
pipe there was consternation and "Subway" rushed on deck.

"You are a brave man, Joe," Monty said to the other and blew a cloud of
smoke in his direction. "I knew you would stick to your post. You
wouldn't leave it even if the ship should go down."

Bragdon had reached the stage where he dared not speak and was busying
himself trying to "breathe with the motion of the boat," as he had
called it.

"By Gad," continued Monty, relentlessly, "this smoke is getting thick.
Some of this toilet water might help if I sprinkled it about."

One whiff of the sweet-smelling cologne was enough for Bragdon and he
bolted up the companionway, leaving the stateroom door wide open and
the prisoner free to go where he pleased. Monty's first impulse was to
follow, but he checked himself on the threshold.

"Damn that bet with DeMille," he said to himself, and added aloud to
the fleeting guard, "The key, Joe, I dare you to come back and get it!"

But Bragdon was beyond recall and Monty locked the door on the inside
and passed the key through the ventilator.

On deck a small part of the company braved the spray in the lee of the
deck house, but the others had long since gone below. The boat was
pitching furiously in the ugliest sea it had encountered, and there was
anxiety underneath Captain Perry's mask of unconcern. DeMille and Dr.
Lotless talked in the senseless way men have when they try to conceal
their nervousness. But the women did not respond; they were in no mood
for conversation.

Only one of them was quite oblivious to personal discomfort and danger.
Peggy Gray was thinking of the prisoner below. In a reflection of her
own terror, she pictured him crouching in the little state-room, like a
doomed criminal awaiting execution, alone, neglected, forgotten,
unpitied. At first she pleaded for the men for his release, but they
insisted upon waiting in the hope that a scare might bring him to his
senses. Peggy saw that no help was to