ting in the ship being taken over by German plotters, with the
prediction that she would emerge from oblivion as a well-armed "raider"
cruising in the North Atlantic; then the generally accepted theory that
she had been swiftly, suddenly rent asunder by a mighty explosion in
her hold. All opinions, all theories, all conjectures, however, revolved
about a single fear;--that she was the victim of a German plot. But
in the course of events there came a day when the German Navy, ever
boastful of its ignoble deeds, issued the positive and no doubt sincere
declaration that it had no record of the sinking of the Doraine. The
fate of the ship was as much of a mystery to the German admiralty as it
was to the rest of the puzzled world.

And so it was that the Doraine, laden with nearly a thousand souls,
sailed out into the broad Atlantic and was never heard from again.

BOOK ONE.

CHAPTER I.

The Captain of the liner was an old man. He had sailed the seas for
two-score years, at least half of them as master. At the outbreak of the
Great War he was given command of the Doraine, relieving a younger man
for more drastic duty in the North Sea. He was an Englishman, and his
name, Weatherby Trigger, may be quite readily located on the list of
retired naval officers in the British Admiralty offices if one cares to
go to the trouble to look it up.

After two years the Doraine, with certain other vessels involved in a
well-known and somewhat thoroughly debated transaction, became to all
intents and purposes the property of the United States of America; she
flew the American flag, carried an American guncrew and American papers,
and, with some difficulty, an English master. The Captain was making his
last voyage as master of the ship. An American captain was to succeed
him as soon as the Doraine reached its destination in the United States.
Captain Trigger, a little past seventy, had sailed for nearly two
years under the American flag at a time when all Englishmen were looking
askance at it and wondering if it was ever to take its proper place
among the righteous banners of the world. It had taken its place among
them, and the "old man" was happy.

His crew of one hundred and fifty was what might be aptly described as
international. The few Englishmen he had on board were noticeably
unfit for active duty in the war zone. There was a small contingent of
Americans, a great many Portuguese, some Spaniards, Norwegians, and