, reached out
for the stars, and fell away with a shudder. The man who watched, stood
and dreamed until the voyage was almost over. Then he turned on his heel
and went back to see how his cabin companion was faring.

Mr. Coulson was sitting on the edge of his bunk. He had awakened with a
terrible headache and a sense of some hideous indiscretion. It was not
until he had examined every paper in his pocket and all his money
that he had begun to feel more comfortable. And in the meantime he had
forgotten altogether to be seasick.

"Well, how has the remedy worked?" the stranger inquired.

Mr. Coulson looked him in the face. Then he drew a short breath
of relief. He had been indiscreet, but he had alarmed himself
unnecessarily. There was nothing about the appearance of the quiet, dark
little man, with the amiable eyes and slightly foreign manner, in the
least suspicious.

"It's given me a brute of a headache," he declared, "but I certainly
haven't been seasick up till now, and I must say I've never crossed
before without being ill."

The stranger laughed soothingly.

"That brandy and soda would keep you right." He said. "When we get to
Folkestone, you'll be wanting a supper basket. Make yourself at home.
I don't need the cabin. It's a glorious night outside. I shouldn't have
come in at all except to see how you were getting on."

"How long before we are in?" Mr. Coulson asked.

"About a quarter of an hour," was the answer. "I'll come for you, if you
like. Have a few minute's nap if you feel sleepy."

Mr. Coulson got up.

"Not I!" he said. "I am going to douse my head in some cold water. That
must have been the strongest brandy and soda that was ever brewed, to
send me off like that."

His friend laughed as he helped him out on to the deck.

"I shouldn't grumble at it, if I were you," he said carelessly. "It
saved you from a bad crossing."

Mr. Coulson washed his face and hands in the smoking room lavatory,
and was so far recovered, even, as to be able to drink a cup of coffee
before they reached the harbor. At Folkestone he looked everywhere for
his friend, but in vain. At Charing Cross he searched once more. The
little dark gentleman, with the distinguished air and the easy, correct
speech, who had mixed his brandy and soda, had disappeared.

"And I owe the little beggar for half that cabin," Mr. Coulson thought
with a sensation of annoyance. "I wonder where he's hidden himself!"

CHAPTER XIX. A MOME