o the other, "hadn't we better make the best of it?
We're going out to sea, that's certain--here's the bar!"

A sudden lifting of the thickly-carpeted floor, a dip to the left,
another to the right, a plunge forward, a drop back, then a settling down
to a steady persistent roll, showed her companions that Audrey was
right--the yacht was crossing the bar which lay at the mouth of
Scarhaven Bay. Outside that lay the North Sea, and Copplestone suddenly
wondered which course the vessel was going to take, north, east, or
south. But before he could put his thoughts into words, the door was
suddenly unlocked, and Captain Andrius, suave, polite, deprecating,
walked into the cabin.

"A thousands pardons--and two words of explanation!" he exclaimed, as he
executed a deep bow to his lady prisoner. "First--Miss Greyle, I have
sent a message to your mother that you are quite safe and will join her
in due course. Second--this is merely a temporary detention--you shall
all be landed--all in good time."

Vickers as a legal man, assumed his most professional air.

"Do you know what you are rendering yourself liable to, sir, by detaining
us at all?" he demanded. "An action--"

Captain Andrius bowed again; again assumed his deprecating smile. He
waved the two men to seats and himself took a chair with his back to the
door by which he entered.

"My dear sir!" he said courteously. "You forget that I am but a servant.
I am under orders. However, I give my word that no harm shall come to
you, that you shall be treated with every polite attention, and that you
shall be landed."

"When--and where?" asked Vickers.

"Tomorrow, certainly," replied Andrius. "As to where, I cannot exactly
say. But--where you will be in touch with--shall we say civilization?"

He showed a set of fine white teeth in such a curious fashion as he spoke
the last word that Copplestone and Vickers instinctively glanced at each
other, with a mutual instinct of distrust.

"Won't do!" said Vickers. "I insist that you put about and go into
Scarhaven again."

Andrius spread out his open palms and shook his head "Impossible!" he
answered. "We are already _en voyage_. Time presses. Be
placable--tomorrow you shall be released."

Vickers was about to answer this appeal with an angry refusal to be
either placable or tractable, but he suddenly stopped the words which
rose to his tongue. There was something in all this--some mystery, some
queer game, and it might be wor