thereby. For the rest, Dick lived the humdrum life of the ship.
Naturally, he saw a good deal of the occupants of the saloon, but the
acquaintance did not progress beyond formalities. The two ladies read,
and walked, and played bridge with Mr. Fenshawe and the Baron. They
took much interest in Stromboli and the picturesque passage through the
Straits of Messina, and the red glare of Etna kept them on deck for
hours. Then the yacht settled down for the run to Port Said, and
arrived at that sunlit abode of rascality on the first of November.

Here the stores and coal bunkers were replenished, but no member of the
crew was allowed to land. Cablegrams, letters, and newspapers came in
bundles for the cabin-folk. The only communication of any sort for
officers or men was a letter addressed to Royson by name. Von Kerber
constituted himself postman, and he brought the missive to Dick in
person, but not until the _Aphrodite_ had entered the canal after
shipping her French pilot and search-light.

He was annoyed, though he veiled his ill-humor under an affected
carelessness.

"How came you to give Port Said as a port of call to one of your
correspondents?" he asked.

"I did not," said Dick, whose surprise was genuine enough to disarm
suspicion.

"Then some one has made a very accurate guess, yes?" sneered the other.

"I expected no letter from any person under the sun, and I certainly
told no one I was passing through Port Said, for the sufficient reason