had
injured his hand, and I had finished my work and was mounting the
grubby wire ladder, when a fireman passed me with averted face. I
hardly glanced at him, and certainly did not pause the least fraction
of a second; but to the half-glance succeeded a shock. The nerves, I
suppose, took a perceptible instant of time to convey the recognition
to the brain; but, despite the grime on his face and the change in his
appearance, I could not be mistaken. It was Pierce, the discharged
boatswain.

Here was news indeed! Pierce, of whom Day thought he had got rid in
Rio, was employed as stoker on the yacht. How came he there? This
bespoke treachery again. And now I began to get some notion of how vast
and subtle was the web of the conspiracy. It could not be that only a
few men were concerned in it. Holgate had been right. How many hands
could we depend on? Who put Pierce in his present situation? I went on
deck in a fume of wonder and excitement. Plainly something was
hatching, and probably that very moment. If fierce thought I had
recognised him it would doubtless precipitate the plans of the
villains. There was no time to be lost, and so, first of all, I
went--whither do you suppose? To see the Princess.

She received me in her boudoir, where she was reclining in an evening
gown that fitted her beautiful figure closely, and she rose in
astonishment. But at once her eyes lighted.

"You have something to tell me?" she inquired.

"Yes," said I. "The man who was dismissed is still on board. He is
acting as stoker."

She compressed her lips and eyed me.

"That spells, madam, business," said I.

"What is to be done?" she asked quietly, but I could see her bosom
moving with excitement.

"I have come to you first because it is you who must prepare the Prince
and persuade him of the crisis. I will go to the captain with my tale,
and Heaven knows how I shall be received. It is the Prince who must
act."

"Yes--yes," she said quickly. "Go at once. I will find my brother."

Day was in his cabin, and, knocking, I entered without waiting for
permission. I found him with his arm bared and a syringe in his hand.
He stared at me and scowled.

"There is no time for words, sir," said I. "Pierce is on board, and
there is danger. There will probably be a rising to-night."

He threw the syringe down. "I'm very glad to hear it," he declared, in
even tones. "Take that away, doctor. Where's Sir John Barraclough?"

I told him that he