she had scarcely spoken to him since they met at Marseilles, and, were
he a vain man, such studied neglect on the part of a pretty woman might
have supplied food for thought. Yet it is possible that Mrs. Haxton
herself would confess to a certain chagrin if she realized how small a
place she occupied in his mind as he followed her along the deck. Irene
flitted in front, light-limbed and agile, humming gaily a verse of some
song, but breaking off in the midst to ask Captain Stump not to be very
angry if she brought a party of invaders to his tiny domain. She was
young enough, not to feel fluttered by the knowledge that Mrs. Haxton
had broken in on a somewhat dangerous interchange of confidences. She
knew that she wanted a friend--some one less opinionative than Mr.
Fenshawe--to whom she could appeal for help and guidance when
difficulties arose. Royson was already a hero in her eyes, and what
more natural than that she should turn to him, especially under the
circumstances which had come to her knowledge that evening? As for
Dick, he fancied that the Suez Canal was one of the roads to Heaven.

Before he climbed into his bunk, however, he re-read Mr. Forbes's
letter, and noticed then that it bore signs of interference, while von
Kerber, if he had not opened it, must have jumped to the conclusion
that it came from London solely because the stamp was an English one.
Added to Irene's veiled warning that all was not well on board, this
apparent tampering with his correspondence bore an ugly look. It almost
suggested that the Baron feared he was what the London inquiry agent
had asked him to become--the paid spy of Alfieri. He wondered what hold
the Italian had on the man. Now that he was able to examine recent
events in perspective, he saw that von Kerber had traveled alone from
London with the hope of throwing off his track any one who was watching
him--and had failed. It was evident, too, that neither Mr. Fenshawe nor
his granddaughter, nor Mrs. Haxton for that matter, took pains to keep