the marrow, remained crouching motionless beneath the porthole,
concentrating all his attention on the conversation in the hope of
catching some word or phrase which might throw further light on
the mysterious enterprise under discussion. While the affair
itself was being spoken of he had almost ceased to be aware of his
surroundings, so eagerly had he listened to what was being said,
but now that the talk had turned to more ordinary subjects he began
more or less subconsciously to take stock of his own position.

He realized in the first place that he was in very real danger. A
quick movement either of the men in the cabin or of some member of
the crew might lead to his discovery, and he had the uncomfortable
feeling that he might pay the forfeit for his curiosity with his
life. He could imagine the manner in which the "accident" would
be staged. Doubtless his body, showing all the appearance of death
from drowning, would be found in the river with alongside it the
upturned boat as evidence of the cause of the disaster.

And if he should die, his secret would die with him. Should he not
then be content with what he had learned and clear out while he
could, so as to ensure his knowledge being preserved? He felt that
he ought, and yet the desire to remain in the hope of doing still
better was overpowering. But as he hesitated the power of choice
was taken away. The men in the cabin were making a move. Coburn
finished his whisky, and he and Henri rose to their feet.

"Well," the former said, "There's one o'cl6ck. We must be off."

The others stood up also, and at the same moment Hilliard crept
once more up the ladder to the bridge and crouched down in the