sy time. But I could not lie to
her.

"What do you think yourself? You know your cousin. Will he lie down and
let us win without a fight?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. He'll go through with his villainy, no
matter what it costs."

"Yes. There is no use blinking the facts. We're in for a test of
strength. I'm sorry, but the only way to meet the situation is to accept
it and be ready for it. I don't fear the result."

She looked steadily at me.

"Nor I. But it's dreadful to have to wait and hold our hands. I wish I
could do something."

"You can," I smiled. "You may pass me the potatoes, and after I have
finished eating you may play for us. We must show these scurvy ruffians
that we aren't a bit afraid of them."

CHAPTER XII

MY UNEXPECTED GUEST

"And will they murder us all in our beds?"

Miss Berry, very white but not at all hysterical, had Blythe penned in a
corner by the piano as she asked the question.

"Don't be a goose, auntie," her niece smiled affectionately.

"The fact is that we were afraid you might complain of ennui, so we have
stirred up a little excitement," explained Sam.

"Truly, Mr. Blythe?"

My friend looked at me appealingly and I came to the rescue.

"Sailors are a queer lot. They often get notions that have to be knocked
out of them. We'll try not to disturb you while we do the hammering,
Miss Berry."

A faint color washed back into her face.

"Oh, I hope you are right. It would be dreadful if----" she interrupted
herself to take a more cheerful view. "But I am sure Mr. Mott is right.
He has been on the seas a great many years more than you two. He ought
to know best, oughtn't he?"

"Certainly," I conceded. "And I hope he does."

"Besides, Captain Bothwell is such a gentleman. I'm sure he wouldn't do
anything so dreadful. I wish I could talk to him. He was always so
reasonable with me, though Evie and he couldn't get along."

I concealed my smile at the thought of Miss Berry converting him.

The trumpet call to dinner diverted our thoughts. I dropped into my room
to wash before dinner, with the surprising result that I lost the meal.

As I opened the door a low voice advised me to close it at once. Since I
was looking into the wrong end of a revolver, and that weapon was in the
hand of a very urgent person, I complied with the suggestion. The man
behind the gun was Boris Bothwell.

"Hope I don't intrude," I apologized, glancing at the disorder in my
stateroo