inspection, was in some way connected with
Kalliope. She failed to persuade them that S could have anything to do
with Stephanos the Elder. S, perhaps because it is so curly, always
made the children laugh uproariously. The mention of the name of
Stephanos made them suddenly grave again. He was no subject for
merriment, and it seemed impossible that a sign so plainly comic as S
could possibly be associated with him.

The mystery of the island was the Queen's only disappointment. It
remained obstinately undeveloped. No more suspicious scraps of paper
were to be found anywhere. Smith hardly ever stirred outside the
palace. The cisterns were, indeed, still in the cavern, but no change
took place in them. They stood there, great, foolish, empty tanks of
galvanized iron, entirely meaningless things. The Queen came to regard
them without wonder. They were just there, that was all. Little by
little the mystery ceased to interest her, ceased even to be a
disappointment.

Then one day, just as she was beginning to forget it, the mystery
suddenly became exciting again.

It was still Kalliope's habit to sleep, wrapped in a rug, on the floor
at the foot of the Queen's bed. Smith commanded and the Queen
entreated, but the girl refused to occupy a room of her own or to
sleep on a bed. Every morning about seven she woke, unrolled herself
from her rug, tiptoed across the room and pulled back the curtains.
The flood of sunlight wakened the Queen and the two girls went
together to bathe from the steps below the Queen's balcony.

One morning Kalliope gave a sudden shout of excitement when she pulled
back the curtains.

"Mucky ship!" she cried.

She ran from the window. The Queen, blinking and no more than half
awake, was seized by the arms and pulled out of bed. Kalliope was the
least conventional of lady's-maids. She loved, even worshipped and
adored, her mistress, but she had no idea whatever of propriety of
behaviour. Bedclothes were scattered on the floor. The Queen,
staggering to her feet, was dragged across the room to the window.
Kalliope pointed to the harbour with a finger which trembled with
excitement.

"Mucky ship," she said.

Kalliope's English was improving in quality. The Queen had forbidden
her to say "damn" or "bloody" but about "mucky" she had received no
instructions. It still seemed to her a proper epithet for any ship. In
this case it was unsuitable. The ship, a small steamer, which lay at
anchor in the h