and?"

"Perfectly, sir."

When she had withdrawn he kneeled down on his sofa and looked out
through the port at the sunset sea.

There was a possibility that Scheherazade and her friends might be on
board the _Volhynia_. Who else would be likely to take wax impressions
of his keyhole and leave a scented scrap of a handkerchief on his
stateroom floor?

That they had kept themselves not only out of sight but off the
passenger list merely corroborated suspicion. That's what they'd be
likely to do.

And now there was no question in his mind of leaving the box in his
cabin. He'd cling to it like a good woman to alimony. Death alone
could separate his box from him.

As he knelt there, sniffing the salt perfume of the sea, his ears on
duty detected the sound of a tray in the corridor.

"Leave it on the camp-table outside my door!" he said over his
shoulder.

"Very good, sir."

He was not hungry; he was thinking too hard.

"Confound it," he thought to himself, "am I to squat here in ambush
for the rest of the trip?"

The prospect was not agreeable for a man who loved the sea. All day
and most of the starry night the hurricane deck called to him, and his
whole anatomy responded. And now to sit hunched up here like a rat in
the hold was not to his taste. Suppose he should continue to frequent
the deck, carrying with him his box, of course. He might never
discover who owned the white serge skirt or who owned the voice which
pronounced is as "iss."

Meanwhile, it occurred to him that for a quarter of an hour or more
his dinner outside his door had been growing colder and colder. So he
slid from the sofa, unstrapped the rubber band, opened the door,
lifted table and tray into his stateroom with a sharp glance at the
opposite door, and, readjusting the rubber band, composed himself to
eat.

CHAPTER XVIII

BY RADIO

Perhaps it was because he did not feel particularly hungry that his
dinner appeared unappetising; possibly because it had been standing in
the corridor outside his door for twenty minutes, which did not add to
its desirability.

The sun had set and the air in the room had grown cold. He felt
chilly; and, when he uncovered the silver tureen and discovered that
the soup was still piping hot, he drank some of it to warm himself.

He had swallowed about half a cupful before he discovered that the
seasoning was not agreeable to his palate. In fact, the flavour of the
hot broth was so decidedly