of what might have taken place underneath that tunnel! You must remember
that I saw it, too. Don't go on. Don't talk about it any more. I am going
upstairs for my cigarette. Are you coming to get my chair for me, Mr.
Greene, or must I rely upon the deck steward?"

Mr. Raymond Greene was a very gallant man, and he did not hesitate for a
moment. He sprang to his feet and escorted the young lady from the
saloon. He glanced back, as he left the table, to nod his adieux to the
little company whom he had taken under his charge. Philip Romilly was
gazing steadfastly out of the porthole.

"Kind of delicate young fellow, that," he remarked. "Nice face, too.
Can't help thinking that I've met or seen some one like him lately."



CHAPTER V

Philip Romilly found himself alone at last with the things which he had
craved--darkness, solitude, the rushing of the salt wind, the sense of
open spaces. On the other, the sheltered side of the steamer, long lines
of passengers were stretched in wicker chairs, smoking and drinking their
coffee, but where he was no one came save an occasional promenader. Yet
even here was a disappointment. He had come for peace, for a brief escape
from the thrall of memories which during the last few hours had become
charged with undreamed-of horrors--and there was to be no peace. In the
shadowy darkness which rested upon the white-churned sea flying past him,
he saw again, with horrible distinctness, the face, the figure of the man
who for those few brief minutes he had hated with a desperate and
passionate hatred. He saw the broken photograph, the glass splintered