that I never even thought of the place until you informed me yourself,
sir, that we were bound for the Red Sea."

"It is strange. Well, here is your letter. Perhaps, when you have read
it, you may understand how the thing happened. I wished our destination
to remain hidden, from the general public, and you are the only man on
board, except Mr. Fenshawe and myself, whose whereabouts are known in
London."

Now it chanced that the postmark was illegible, and, furthermore, that
von Kerber had already read the letter by adopting the ingenious plan
of the Russian censor, who grips the interior sheet in an instrument
resembling a long, narrow curling-tongs, and twists steadily until he
is able to withdraw it uninjured. But Stiff legal note-paper is apt to
bear signs of such treatment. Somewhat later in the day, Royson saw
these things, and was perplexed. At the moment, he merely broke open
the envelope.

It was a brief communication from Mr. Forbes. "I telegraphed to you at
Marseilles," it said, "and have ascertained that my message was
delivered to you. I regret your apparent decision not to fall in with
my request. Sir Henry Royson is ill, almost dangerously so, and I have
reason to believe that he wishes to make amends to you for his past
attitude. I received your letter, wherein you stated that you were
shipping on some vessel under the name of King, but I had little
difficulty in tracing you to Mr. Fenshawe's yacht, and I do not feel
justified in recognizing your unnecessary alias. Again, I advise you to
return. I am sure that your employer, a most estimable man, will not
place any difficulties in your way. If you leave the _Aphrodite_ at
Port Said or Ismalia, and send me a cablegram, I will remit by cable