o
Copplestone, who had moved close to her, "I'm not one scrap afraid of
anything--and it's only until tomorrow. He'll land us--I'm sure of it."

There was nothing for it, then, but to follow Andrius to his own
comfortable quarters. There, utterly ignoring the strange circumstances
under which they met, he played the part of host with genuine desire to
make his guests feel at ease, and when he showed them to their berths,
a little later, he emphasized his assurance of their absolute safety
and liberty.

"You see, gentlemen, your movements are untrammelled," he said. "You can
go in and out of your quarters as you like. You can go where you like on
the yacht tomorrow morning. There is no restriction on you. Sleep
well--and tomorrow you are all free again, eh?"

Copplestone got a word or two with Vickers--alone.

"What do you think?" he muttered. "Shall you sleep?"

"My impression--for I know what you're thinking about," said Vickers, "is
that Miss Greyle's as safe as if she were in her mother's house! She's no
fear, herself, anyway. There's some mystery, somewhere, and I can't make
this Andrius man out at all, but I believe all's right as regards
personal safety. There's Miss Greyle's cabin, anyhow, right opposite
ours--and I can keep an eye and an ear open even when I'm asleep!"

But in spite of these assurances, Copplestone slept little. He was up,
dressed, and on deck by sunrise, staring around him in a fresh autumn
morning to get some notion of the yacht's whereabouts, and he had just
managed to make out a mere filmy line of land far to the westward when
Audrey appeared at his elbow. There was no one of any importance near
them and Copplestone impulsively seized her hands.

"I've scarcely slept!" he blurted out, gazing intently at her.
"Couldn't! Blaming myself for letting you get into this confounded mess!
You're all right?"

Audrey responded a little to the pressure of his hands before she
disengaged her own.

"It wasn't your fault," she said. "It's nobody's fault. Don't blame Mr.
Vickers--he couldn't foresee this. Yes, I'm all right--and I slept like a
top. What's the use of worrying? Do you know," she went on, lowering her
voice and drawing nearer to him, "I believe something's going to come of
all this--something that'll clear matters up once and for all."

"Why?" asked Copplestone, wonderingly. "What makes you think that?"

"Don't know--instinct, intuitiveness, perhaps," she answered.
"Besides--I'm d