oad lines of the conspiracy
stood out in their grim significance, and the minor details of it did
not seem to matter. The one thing that concerned her was the part played
in it by the man who had so quickly come into her life, and to whom she
had given her love.

"Where is Mr. Chermside?" she forced herself to ask.

"Nursing his broken head," was the brutal reply. "You mustn't set any
store on having him for a travelling companion. He's going to make the
voyage on the silent system, in a cabin of his own. I can't have an
impetuous young lunatic like him loose on such a quiet ship as the
_Cobra_."

"It was Mr. Chermside who attacked the crew of the launch just now?"

"No other, but mark you, he never had the ghost of a chance. Bully
Cheeseman is equal to taking on half a dozen such shavers as that, and
with his pretty temper it's a wonder he didn't shoot. It would have
served the dirty turncoat right, but he'll get it hotter by waiting--hot
as hell on this ship, and hotter still when Bhagwan Singh gets his claws
into him, from what I hear of his Highness."

It was a trait in Simon Brant's warped temperament to rejoice in the
infliction of pain, mental and physical. His brutal answer was designed
to create a distress that he could gloat over. But it missed its mark.
Violet received it, outwardly at least, with cold disdain.

"Thank you," she said, betraying no emotion save by a little catch in
her breath. "I think that I am now fully informed on all necessary
points; and I shall be obliged if you will leave me. One moment, please.
Is this the apartment I am to occupy? Where is the sleeping
accommodation?"

Brant, who had hoped for the luxury of seeing a woman in tears, had
begun to open the door, but at her bidding he turned, and the chagrin in
his horrible face changed to a grudging admiration which made it
infinitely more horrible. The pose of the superb figure, the disgusted
scorn in the coolly appraising eyes, the level tones of the musical
voice, all reduced him to a temporary servility that would have been
unbearingly nauseous to a weaker character, capable of a personal
interest in the vile instrument of her persecution. But Violet Maynard,
having grasped the main facts, was able to regard Captain Simon Brant
from an entirely detached point of view.

"I will send the stewardess to you, miss," he said quite humbly. "She
has been selected on purpose to be of service to you during the voyage,
and if you have