t past one of the North
German Lloyd boats in company with a cruiser. The private signal was
made and answered, and in half an hour she was again alone amidst the
darkness.

It was nearly eleven o'clock, when Michael Roburoff, who was standing
under the lee of one of the ventilators amidships, smoking a last
pipe before turning in, saw a figure muffled in a huge grey ulster
creeping into the deeper shadows under the bridge. It was so dark
that he could only just make out the outline of the figure, but he
could see enough to rouse his ever ready suspicions in the furtive
movements that the man was making.

He stole out on the starboard, that is the southward, rail of the
spar-deck, and Michael, straining his eyes to the utmost, saw him
take a round flat object from under his coat, and then look round
stealthily to see if he was observed. As he did so Michael whipped a
pistol out of his pocket, levelled it at the man, and said in a low,
distinct tone--

"Put that back, or I'll shoot!"

For all answer the man raised his arm to throw the object overboard.
Michael, taking the best aim he could in the darkness, fired. The
bullet struck the elbow of the raised arm, the man lurched forward
with a low cry of rage and pain, grasped the object with his other
hand, and, as he fell to the deck, flung it into the sea.

Scarcely had it touched the water when it burst into flame, and an
intensely bright blaze of bluish-white light shot up, shattering the
darkness, and illuminating the great ship from the waterline to the
trucks of her masts. Instantly the deck of the liner was a scene of
wild excitement. In a moment the man whom Roburoff had wounded was
secured in the act of trying to throw himself overboard. Michael
himself was rapidly questioned by the captain, who was immediately on
the spot.

He told his story in a dozen words, and explained that he had fired
to disable the man and prevent the fire-signal falling into the sea.
There was no doubt about the guilt of the traitor, for he himself cut
the captain's interrogation short by saying defiantly, in broken
English that at once betrayed him as a Frenchman--

"Yees, I do it! I give signal to ze fleet down there. If I succeeded,
I got half million francs. I fail, so shoot! C'est la fortune de la
guerre! Voila, look! They come!"

As the spy said this he pointed to the south-eastern horizon. A brief
bright flash of white light went up through the night and vanished.
It wa