ent as he had been sure a
moment before that her steady, small hand had deliberately removed the
clip of cartridges from the butt of the automatic, to render him
helpless in the face of his enemies.

Silently contemplating the stiffening victim of Romola Borria's
triangular dagger, Peter heard the rustle of silk garments, and looked
up in time to observe the slender person of Romola Borria herself,
attired exactly as he had left her a few hours previous, detach itself
from the corridor vestibule-way which led to his stateroom. She
approached him.

A thousand questions and accusations swam to his lips, but she was
speaking in low, impassioned tones.

"I knocked at your door. God! I thought he had killed you! I was
afraid. For a moment I thought you were dead."

"You stabbed him," said Peter in an expressionless voice.

She nodded, and drew a long, sobbing breath.

"Yes. He tried to shoot you. I saw him pass my window. I was
waiting. I watched. I knew he would try. Oh, I'm so glad----"

"You knew? You knew that?"

"Yes, yes. He was the--the mate of the coolie you threw overboard in
Batavia. You know, they always travel in pairs. You didn't know that?"

"No; I did not know. But I could have defended myself easily enough if
it had not been for----"

"Your clip of cartridges? Can you forgive me? Can you ever forgive me
for taking them out? I took them out. Oh, Mr. Moore, believe me, I am
concealing nothing! I did remove the clip, and in my carelessness I
forgot to give them back to you when you left my room."

"I see. Have you them?"

"Yes."

"Please give them to me. You have not by any chance, in another of
those careless moods of yours, happened to tamper with the bullets,
have you?"

"Mr. Moore----" she gasped, clutching her white hands to her breast in
indignation.

"You _are_ clever," said Peter sarcastically. "You're altogether too
damn clever. What your game is, I'm not going to take the trouble to
ask. You--you----"

"Oh, Mr. Moore!" She caught his arm.

He cast it away.

"Didn't tamper with the bullets, eh?" he went on in a deep, sullen
voice. "Well, Miss Borria, here is what I think of your word. Here is
how much I trust you."

And with a single motion Peter whipped all seven cartridges from the
clip and tossed them into the sea. He snarled again:

"You _are_ clever, damn clever. Poor, poor little thing! Still want
to go to Japan with me, my dear?"

"I do