nt in her arms.

"Dearie, we can trust Captain Blythe and Mr. Sedgwick. We mustn't make
it harder for them. Just now they are very busy."

I looked my thanks.

Williams and Jimmie returned from the armory. Morgan and Philips were at
their heels. The steward looked very yellow.

"Let me know if there is any sign of trouble. I'll be back presently," I
told Alderson.

Having put Dugan to bed in my room, I stepped into the one where we had
been keeping our prisoner. Mott lay on the floor, his body still warm,
quite dead. I judged that he had expired within the past few minutes.
He had been struck with some blunt instrument and then knifed. The man
had paid for his obstinate disbelief with his life.

I lifted the body to the bed, locked the door, and returned to the
promenade deck saloon. For the throb of the propeller had ceased. An
immediate attack was probably impending.

Miss Berry was sobbing softly in the arms of her niece. In my absence we
had gained another adherent. Billie Blue, the cook's flunky, had come up
from below.

"Where is Higgins?" I asked.

"Don't know, sir. He left right after lunch."

Alderson, who had been craning out of the door, drew back his head to
speak.

"They're coming, sir."

"Down to your cabin, ladies. You go with them, Jimmie. Lock yourselves
in," I ordered.

Evelyn's white lips tried to frame some words as she passed me. I
understood what she wanted to say.

"I'll be careful," I promised.

"I have no weapon, sir," Billie Blue told me.

I had brought up with me from below a repeating rifle, so I handed him
one of my revolvers and an Italian dirk that had been hanging on the
wall as an ornament.

The second door I ordered locked. Putting my head out of one of the
windows I counted the enemy as they stood grouped near the stairway from
the main deck. Bothwell was in the lead, followed by Caine. At their
heels trooped both engineers, the three firemen, the cook, Johnson,
Mack, Gallagher, Dennis, Smith, and Neidlinger. It was not easy to count
them, because they shifted to and fro, but I was almost sure they were
fourteen. The boatswain carried in his hand a towel, which he was
waving.

"Crew to have a conference with you, Cap'n Blythe," he called out.

"I hold no conference with armed mutineers," Blythe called back sternly.

He was standing in the wheelhouse, rifle in hand. Beside him was the
curly head of Tom Yeager.

"This here ship's company offers to do the squa