is an individual of
about fifty years of age, whose dark hair is streaked with gray.
His features are delicately chiselled, his eyes are bright, and his
expression is intelligent and not at all displeasing. He is somewhat
of the Grecian type, and T have no doubt that he is of Hellenic origin
when I hear him called Serko--Engineer Serko--by the Captain of the
_Ebba_.

As to the latter, he is called Spade--Captain Spade--and this name has
an Italian twang about it. Thus there is a Greek, an Italian, and a
crew recruited from every corner of the earth to man a schooner with a
Norwegian name! This mixture strikes me as being suspicious.

And that Count d'Artigas, with his Spanish name and Asiatic type,
where does he come from?

Captain Spade and Engineer Serko continue to converse in a low tone of
voice. The former is keeping a sharp eye on the man at the wheel, who
does not appear to pay any particular attention to the compass in
front of him. He seems to pay more heed to the gestures of one of the
sailors stationed forward, and who signals to him to put the helm to
port or to starboard.

Thomas Roch is near them, gazing vacantly out upon the vast expanse
which is not limited on the horizon by a single speck of land. Two
sailors watch his every movement. It is evidently feared that the
madman may possibly attempt to jump overboard.

I wonder whether I shall be permitted to communicate with my ward.

I walk towards him, and Captain Spade and Engineer Serko watch me.

Thomas Roch doesn't see me coming, and I stand beside him. Still he
takes no notice of me, and makes no movement. His eyes, which sparkle
brightly, wander over the ocean, and he draws in deep breaths of the
salt, vivifying atmosphere. Added to the air surcharged with oxygen is
a magnificent sunset in a cloudless sky. Does he perceive the change
in his situation? Has he already forgotten about Healthful House, the
pavilion in which he was a prisoner, and Gaydon, his keeper? It is
highly probable. The past has presumably been effaced from his memory
and he lives solely in the present.

In my opinion, even on the deck of the _Ebba_, in the middle of the
sea, Thomas Roch is still the helpless, irresponsible man whom I
tended for fifteen months. His intellectual condition has undergone no
change, and his reason will return only when he is spoken to about
his inventions. The Count d'Artigas is perfectly aware of this mental
disposition, having had a proof