of old to study carelessly the faces of the diners and to
speculate as to their characters and occupations. Her negligent
observation roved from the pompous captain down to the dark picturesque
face of the man Craig. Upon him her glance, a mixture of contempt and
curiosity, rested. If he behaved himself and made no attempt to speak
to her, she was willing to declare a truce. In Rangoon the man had
been drunk, but on the Irrawaddy boat he had been sober enough. Craig
kept his eyes directed upon his food and did not offer her even a
furtive glance.

He was not in a happy state of mind. He had taken passage the last
moment to avoid meeting again the one man he feared. For ten years
this man had been reckoned among the lost. Many believed him dead, and
Craig had wished it rather than believed. And then, to meet him face
to face in that sordid boarding-house had shaken the cool nerve of the
gambler. He was worried and bewildered. He had practically sent this
man to ruin. What would be the reprisal? He reached for a mangosteen
and ate the white pulpy contents, but without the customary relish.
The phrase kept running through his head: What would be the reprisal?
For men of his ilk never struck without expecting to be struck back.
Something must be done. Should he seek him and boldly ask what he
intended to do? Certainly he could not do much on board here, except
to denounce him to the officers as a professional gambler. And Paul
would scarcely do that since he, Craig, had a better shot in his gun.
He could tell who Paul was and what he had done. Bodily harm was what
he really feared.

He had seen Elsa, but he had worked out that problem easily. She was
sure to say nothing so long as he let her be; and with the episode of
the hat-pin still fresh in his memory, he assuredly would keep his
distance. He had made a mistake, and was not likely to repeat it.

But Paul! He finished his dessert and went off to the stuffy little
smoke-room, and struggled with a Burma cheroot. Paul was a smoker, and
sooner or later he would drop in. There would be no beating about the
bush on his part. If it was to be war, all right; a truce, well and
good. But he wanted to know, and he was not going to let fear stand in
the way. He waited in vain for his man that night.

And so did Elsa. She felt indignant at one moment and hurt at another.
The man's attitude was inexplicable; there was neither rhyme nor reason
in it. The