dared talk no more, so rang off. The prince might have
been capable of such bruskness. Sonia Turgeinov had not seemed to
suspect anything wrong; she had merely been inquisitive, and had taken
it for granted the nobleman was at the other end of the wire. Mr.
Heatherbloom strode restlessly to and fro. Seconds went by--minutes. He
counted the tickings of the clock--suddenly wheeled sharply.

* * * * *

The young girl stood in the doorway--he had heard and now saw her. She
came forward quickly, though uncertainly; in the dim light she looked
like a shadow. He drew in his breath.

"Miss--" he began, then stopped.

Her gaze rested on him, almost indistinguishable on the other side of
the salon.

"What does it mean? Who are you?" She spoke intrepidly enough but he saw
her slender form sway.

Who was he? About to explain in a rush of words, Mr. Heatherbloom
hesitated. To her he had been, of course, but a conspirator of the
Russian woman in the affair. Miss Van Rolsen had deemed him culpable;
the detective had been sure of it. Would Miss Dalrymple think more
leniently of him than mere unprejudiced people, those who knew less of
him than she? His very presence on the yacht, although somewhat
inexplicably complicated in recent occurrences, was _per se_ a primal
damning circumstance. But she spared him the necessity of answering. She
divined now from his blackened features what his position on the yacht
must be. He was only a poor stoker, but--

"You are a brave fellow," cried Betty Dalrymple, "and I'll not forget
it. You interfered--I remember--"

"A brave fellow!" It was well he had not betrayed himself. Let her think
that of him, for the moment. A poignant mockery lent pain to the thrill
of her words.

"You rushed in, struck him. What then?"

"He won't play the bully and scoundrel again for some time!" burst from
Mr. Heatherbloom. His tones were impetuous; once more he seemed to see
what he had seen during those last moments on the deck--when he had been
unable to restrain himself longer--and had yielded to a single
hot-blooded impulse. "The big brute!" he muttered.

She seemed to regard him in slight surprise. "Where is he? What has
become of him?"

"He is safe--"

"You mean you conquered him, beat him--you?" Her voice thrilled.

"You bet I did," said Mr. Heatherbloom with the least evidence of
incoherency. Her words had been verbal champagne to him. "I gave him
the dandiest be