ow, monsieur."

"Well, no matter. I'll find out myself."

I mounted to the upper deck, and knocked at the door of 375. There was
no response. After a moment, I tried the door, but it was locked. The
window, however, was partly open, and, shading my eyes with my hands,
I peered inside. The stateroom was empty.

A kind of panic seized me as I turned away. Had he, indeed, seen
through my artifice? In attempting to blind him, had I merely
uncovered my own plan? Or--and my cheeks burned at the thought!--was
he so well intrenched that he had no fear of me? Were his plans so
well laid that it mattered not to him whither I went or what I did?
After all, I had no assurance of success at Etretat--no proof that the
fugitives had gone there--no reasonable grounds to believe that we
should find them. Perhaps, indeed, Paris would be a better place to
look for them; perhaps Martigny's advice had really been well meant.

I passed a moment of heart-rending uncertainty; I saw quite clearly
what a little, little chance of success we had. But I shook the
feeling off, sought the lower deck, and inquired again for Martigny.
At last, the ship's doctor told me that he had seen the sick man
safely to a carriage, and had heard him order the driver to proceed to
the Hotel Continental.

"And, frankly, Mr. Lester," added the doctor, "I am glad to be so well
rid of him. It is most fortunate that he did not die on the voyage. In
my opinion, he is very near the end."

I turned away with a lighter heart. From a dying man there could not
be much to fear. So I hunted up Mr. Royce, and found him, finally,
endeavoring to extract some information from a supercilious official
in a gold-laced uniform.

It was, it seemed, a somewhat complicated proceeding to get to
Etretat. In half an hour, a train would leave for Beuzeville, where we
must transfer to another line to Les Ifs; there a second transfer
would be necessary before we could reach our destination. How long
would it take? Our informant shrugged his shoulders with fine
nonchalance. It was impossible to say. There had been a heavy storm
two days before, which had blown down wires and damaged the little
spur of track between Les Ifs and the sea. Trains were doubtless
running again over the branch, but we could not, probably, reach
Etretat before morning.

Amid this jumble of uncertainties, one definite fact remained--a train
was to leave in half an hour, which we must take. So we hurried back
t