_ to know."

"What do you wish me to do, Scheherazade?"

"Keep away from that box."

"I can't do that."

"Yes, you can. You can leave it in charge of the captain of this ship
and let him see that an attempt is made to deliver it to the Princess
Mistchenka."

She was in deadly earnest; he saw that. And, in spite of himself, a
slight thrill that was almost a chill passed over him, checked
instantly by the hot wave of sheer exhilaration at the hint of actual
danger.

"Oho!" he said gaily. "Then you and your friends are not yet finished
with me?"

"Yes, if you will consider your mission accomplished."

"And leave the rest to the captain of the _Volhynia_?"

"Yes."

"Scheherazade," he said, "did you suppose me to be a coward?"

"No. You have done all that you can. A reserve officer of the British
Navy has the box in his charge. Let him, protected by his Government,
send it toward its destination."

In her even voice the implied menace was the more sinister for her
calmness.

He looked at her, perplexed, and shook his head.

"I ask you," she went on, "to keep out of this affair--to disassociate
yourself from it. I ask it because you have been considerate and
brave, and because I do not wish you harm."

He turned toward her, leaning a little forward on the lounge:

"No use," he said, smiling. "I'm in it until it ends----"

"Let it end then!" said a soft, thick voice directly behind him. And
Neeland turned and found the man he had seen on deck standing beside
him. One of his fat white hands held an automatic pistol, covering
him; the other was carefully closing the door which he had noiselessly
opened to admit him.

"Karl!" exclaimed Ilse Dumont.

"It is safaire that you do not stir, either, to interfere," he said,
squinting for a second at her out of his eyes set too near together.

"Karl!" she cried. "I asked him to come in order to persuade him! I
gave him my word of honour!"

"Did you do so? Then all the bettaire. I think we shall persuade him.
Do not venture to move, young man; I shoot veree willingly."

And Neeland, looking at him along the blunt barrel of the automatic
pistol, was inclined to believe him.

His sensations were not agreeable; he managed to maintain a calm
exterior; choke back the hot chagrin that reddened his face to the
temples; and cast a half humorous, half contemptuous glance at Ilse
Dumont.

"You prove true, don't you?" he said coolly. "--True to your trade of
story-t