"Entirely my opinion, Miss Beverley," a voice said in her ear. "I find
it most depressing--and unhealthy. And listen.--Do you hear that?"

They all listened intently. Again they could hear the hooting of a
steamer in the distance.

"Between ourselves," Crawshay went on confidentially, "the captain
seems to me rather worried. That steamer has been following us for
hours. She is evidently waiting for the fog to lift, to see who
we are."

"How does she know about us?" Katharine asked. "We haven't blown our
hooter once."

"We don't need to," was the fractious reply. "That's where we are
being over-careful. She can hear our engines distinctly."

"Who does the captain think she is, then?"

Crawshay's voice was dropped to a mysterious pitch, but though he
leaned towards the girl, his eyes were fixed upon her companion.

"He doesn't go as far as to express a definite opinion, but he thinks
that it might be that German raider--the _Blucher_, isn't it? She can
steal about quite safely in the fog, and she can tell by the beat of
the engines whether she is near a man-of-war or not."

Not a muscle of Jocelyn's face twitched, but there was a momentary
gleam in his eyes of which Crawshay took swift note. He glanced aft to