rtune!"

I drank my wine at a gulp. "To a good end, if may be," I said. "To
rest, at least."

Barraclough held his glass coolly and examined it critically.

"It's Pommery, isn't it, sir?" he asked.

I do not think the Prince answered. Barraclough sipped.

"I'll swear it is," said he. "Let's look at the bottle, Lane."

He solved his doubts, and drank and looked at his watch. "If they're
coming, they should be here now."

"The weather's not going to save us," I observed bitterly; "she goes
smoother."

It was true enough. The wind and the sea had both moderated.
Barraclough examined the chambers of his revolver.

"Sir John Barraclough!"

A voice hailed us loudly from the deck. Sir John moved slowly to the
door and turned back to look at us. In its way it was an invitation. He
did not speak, but I think he invoked our aid, or at least our support,
in that look. We followed.

"Yes," he called back, "I'm here."

"We've come for the answer," said the voice. "You've had plenty of time
to turn it over. So what's it to be--the terms offered or war?"

"Is it Holgate?" said Lane in a whisper.

"Oh, it's Holgate, no doubt. Steady! Remember who has the treasure,
Barraclough."

"The treasure is not in our possession," sang out Barraclough. "But we
believe it to be in the possession of Holgate--one of yourselves."

"Oh, come, that won't do--that game won't play," said a familiar wheezy
voice from behind us, and we all fell back in alarm and amazement.

The boards had fallen loose from one of the windows, and Holgate's head
protruded into the corridor. In a flash the Prince's fingers went to
his revolver, and a report echoed from the walls, the louder for that
confined space. Holgate had disappeared. Barraclough ran to the window
and peered out. He looked round.

"That opens it," he said deliberately, and stood with a look of
perplexity and doubt on his face.

"Since you have chosen war and begun the offensive we have no option,"
shouted Holgate through the boarding.

"All right, drive ahead," growled Lane, and sucked his teeth.

Crash came an iron bar on the door. Barraclough inserted his revolver
through the open window and fired. "One," said he.

"Two, by thunder!" said Lane, discharging through one of the holes
pierced in the door.

"They'll play us the same trick as before," said I, and dashed across
to the entrance from the music-room.

Noises arose from below. I tested the locks and bars, and then r