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, Mr.--Mr.--" She paused suggestively. But the man would not fill in the blank. He smoked on in silence. The vessel was rolling somewhat heavily, and the splash of the drifting foam reached them occasionally where they stood. There were no other ladies in sight. Suddenly the clear, American voice broke through the man's barrier of silence. "I know quite well what you are, you know. You may just as well tell me your name as leave me to find it out for myself." He looked at her then for the first time, keenly, even critically. His clean-shaven mouth wore a very curious expression. "My name is West," he said, after a moment. She nodded briskly. "Your professional name, I suppose. You are a professional, of course?" His eyes continued to watch her narrowly. They were blue eyes, piercingly, icily blue. "Why 'of course,' if one may ask?" She laughed a light, sweet laugh, inexpressibly gay. Cynthia Mortimer could be charmingly inconsequent when she chose. "I don't think you are a bit clever, you know," she said. "I knew what you were directly I saw you standing by the gangway watching the people coming on board. You looked really professional then, just as if you didn't care a red cent whether you caught your man or not. I knew you did care though, and I was ready to dance when I knew you hadn't got him. Think you'll track him down on our side?" West turned his eyes once more upon the heaving, grey water, carelessly flicking the ash from his cigarette. "I don't think," he said briefly. "I know." "You--know?" The wide eyes opened wider, but they gathered no information from the unresponsive profile that smoked the cigarette. "You know where Mr. Nat Verney is?" she breathed, almost in a whisper. "You don't say! Then--then you weren't really watching out for him at the gangway?" He jerked up his head with an enigmatical laugh. "My methods are not so simple as that," he said. Cynthia joined quite generously in his laugh, notwithstanding its hard note of ridicule. She had become keenly interested in this man, in spite of--possibly in consequence of--the rebuffs he so unsparingly administered. She was not accustomed to rebuffs, this girl with her delicate, flower-like beauty. They held for her something of the charm of novelty, and abashed her not at all. "And you really think you'll catch him?" she questioned, a note of honest regret in her voice. "Don't you want him to be caught?" He p
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