"You see a battle-ship?" inquired the Jew.

"A phantom battle-ship," Ford explained, "a sort OF FLYING
DUTCHMAN. The time I saw it I was on the bridge, and I yelled and
telegraphed the engine-room. I brought the ship to a full stop, and
backed her. But it was dirty weather, and the error was passed
over. After that, when I saw the thing coming I did nothing. But
each time I think it is real." Ford shivered slightly and glanced
about him. "Some day," he added fatefully, it WILL be real, and I
will NOT signal, and the ship will sink!"

In silence, Prothero observed his visitor closely. The young man
seemed sincere, genuine. His manner was direct and frank. He looked
the part he had assumed, as one used to authority.

"My fees are large," said the Russian.

At this point, had Ford, regardless of terms, exhibited a hopeful
eagerness to at once close with him, the Jew would have shown him
the door. But Ford was on guard, and well aware that a lieutenant
in the navy had but few guineas to throw away on medicines. He made
a movement as though to withdraw.

"Then I am afraid," he said, "I must go somewhere else."

His reluctance apparently only partially satisfied the Jew.

Ford adopted opposite tactics. He was never without ready money.
His paper saw to it that in its interests he was always able at any
moment to pay for a special train across Europe, or to bribe the