Mr. Tagg--Mr. King. An' now, Tagg, wot's for breakfast? Mr. King an'
me can eat a Frenchman if you have nothin' tastier aboard."

Royson was relieved to find that he had practically no duties to
perform until the yacht sailed. She had been coaled and provisioned by
a Marseilles firm of shipping agents, and only awaited telegraphic
orders to get up steam, in case the wind were unfavorable for beating
down the Gulf of Lions, when Mr. Fenshawe and his party arrived.

Every member of the crew was of British birth, and Britons are not, as
a rule, endowed with the gift of tongues. Hence, Royson was the only
man on board who spoke French, and this fact led directly to his active
participation in the second act of the drama of love and death in
which, all unconsciously, he was playing a leading part. On the day
after his arrival in the French port, the head partner of the firm of
local agents came on board and explained that, by inadvertence, some
cases of claret of inferior vintage had been substituted for the wine
ordered. The mistake had been discovered in the counting-house, and he
was all apologies.

Royson and he chatted together while the goods were being exchanged,
and, in the end, the polite Frenchman invited _messieurs les officiers_
to dine with him, and visit the Palais de Glace, where some daring
young lady was announced to do things in a motor-car, which, in
England, are only attempted by motor omnibuses.

Stump, who would not leave the yacht, permitted Tagg and Royson to
accept the proffered civility. They passed a pleasant evening, and saw
the female acrobat negotiate a thirty-feet jump, head downward, taken
through space by the automobile. Then they elected to walk to No. 3.