--remember that he was Benjamin Corvet? Alan did not believe
it could be that; again and again he had spoken Corvet's name to him
without effect. Yet there must have been times when, if he was
actually Corvet, he had remembered who he was. He must have remembered
that when he had written directions to some one to send those things to
Constance Sherrill; or, a strange thought had come to Alan, had he
written those instructions to himself? Had there been a moment when he
had been so much himself that he had realized that he might not be
himself again and so had written the order which later, mechanically,
he had obeyed? This certainly would account for the package having
been mailed at Manitowoc and for Alan's failure to find out by whom it
had been mailed. It would account too for the unknown handwriting upon
the wrapper, if some one on the ferry had addressed the package for the
old man. He must inquire whether any one among the crew had done that.

What could have brought back that moment of recollection to Corvet,
Alan wondered; the finding of the things which he had sent? What might
bring another such moment? Would his seeing the Sherrills again--or
Spearman--act to restore him?

For half an hour Alan paced steadily at the bow. The storm was
increasing noticeably in fierceness; the wind-driven snowflakes had
changed to hard pellets which, like little bullets, cut and stung the
face; and it was growing colder. From a cabin window came the blue
flash of the wireless, which had been silent after notifying the shore
stations of their departure. It had commenced again; this was unusual.
Something still more unusual followed at once; the direction of the
gale seemed slowly to shift, and with it the wash of the water; instead
of the wind and the waves coming from dead ahead now, they moved to the
port beam, and Number 25, still pitching with the thrust through the
seas, also began to roll. This meant, of course, that the steamer had
changed its course and was making almost due north. It seemed to Alan
to force its engines faster; the deck vibrated more. Alan had not
heard the orders for this change and could only speculate as to what it
might mean.

His relief came after a few minutes more.

"Where are we heading?" Alan asked.

"Radio," the relief announced. "The _H. C. Richardson_ calling; she's
up by the Manitous."

"What sort of trouble?"

"She's not in trouble; it's another ship."

"What ship?"