As I went down the corridor the figure of little Pye sprang out upon me from somewhere.

“Doctor,” he said in a piteous voice. I stayed. “Doctor, I’m very ill. I’m just awful.”

I looked at him closely. The flesh under his eyes was blue; the eyes themselves were bloodshot, and his hands shook. I felt his pulse, and it was racing.

“You’re in a blue funk, Pye,” said I severely.

He groaned. “Anything. I’ll admit anything, doctor. But for heaven’s sake let me go down to my bunk. I’ll pull together there, I’ll swear it.”

“You’ll go down and drink too much,” I said.

“Not if you’ll give me something. There must be lots of things,” he pleaded. “I’ve never seen I’m not fitted for this. Oh, doctor, I’ve only lived in a street before, a suburb, Tulse Hill. Think of that.”

His voice cracked, and with the ghost of his favourite trick his fingers quavered with the glasses on his nose. I took a pity for the creature, a pity in which there was naturally some disgust.

“Very well,” I said. “Go down, and I’ll make it all right. I’ll pay you a visit later.”

He thanked me and scuttled away like a rabbit, and I sought Barraclough and explained.

“Ill?” said he. “Well, if he’s ill

“He’s ill enough to count,” I said. “He’s in a dead funk, and about as much use as a radish.”

Barraclough’s nose wrinkled in smiling contempt.

“Better make him steward and promote Jackson,” he said. “He’s part of a man, at any rate. They’ll be on us before we know where we are.”

“Do you think so?” I asked. “Well, to say the truth, Holgate puzzles me. Why did he make that offer?”

“Because he’ll find it infernally difficult to get in here,” said Barraclough easily. “Because it’s a frontal attack all the way and a costly business. If it’s a case of half the party going to glory they’ll look out for a cheaper way first. That’s why.”

“You may be right,” I answered. “But Holgate isn’t exactly particular, and anyway I want to find out.”

“Find out?” he echoed in surprise.

“Well, Holgate used a flag. Why shouldn’t I in my turn?” I asked.

He screwed up his mouth. “Well, I don’t know,” said he. “I won’t say you nay, but look here, there’s risk, Phillimore. You say Holgate isn’t particular. To put it plain, he’s a black-hearted swine.”

“You couldn’t put it too plain,” I replied. “But I have my notion, and I may not be wrong. He’s black enough, God knows, but I think I’ve gauged him a little. Why didn’t he push the assault? Why doesn’t he now? No, Holgate’s not all plain and easy. It’s not like reading print. I’m hanged if I know what he’s up to, but whatever it is, it’s bad. And somehow I feel my way along this, and I don’t think he’ll do any harm at present. Call it faith call it instinct call it superstition if you will.”

He bit his moustache doubtfully. “You’re on duty in an hour,” he objected.

“I’ll be back before,” I answered. “And another thing, Barraclough, there’s Legrand.... Oh, they’ll want a doctor.”

“That’s true. Well, God bless you,” said he, placidly yielding, and unlocked the door. I had provided myself with a flag, and now emerged upon the deck clasping it in one hand.

I walked past the barred windows of the music-room and saloon, and past the smoking-room beyond, until I was level with the chart-house. I was on the windward side of the yacht, and she was heeling gently as she ran down the coastline under a full head of steam. Above me I could discern also the white spread of her wings, and from the look of the long white water that leaped and fell off her sides in a welter I guessed that we must be footing it to a pretty tune. If poor McCrae had been right in estimating her rate at eighteen knots, she could not be making much less than sixteen now.

The sails were full of noise, and the wind rattled and sang in the ventilators. The first sight that struck me as I came back square with the bridge was a man swinging in a travelling-cradle and leisurely painting the funnel. It seemed so peaceful an occupation, and so strangely out of accord with those terrible transactions of the night, that I stared in wonder. Then my eyes went to the bridge and marked something more in keeping with the situation, for the bridge had been boarded about in the rear and sides with a wall of timber, so that the helmsman and the man in charge, Holgate or another, were invisible from the deck below, as also from the hurricane-deck. I suppose that this structure had been put together in memory of the Prince’s prowess, and of his ruthless performances from the hurricane-deck.

I advanced to the end of the deck and hailed the forecastle, waving my flag.

“Is Mr. Holgate there?” I called out. “I wish to see him,” and again I waved my flag.

A man came into the open on the deck below and stared up at me, and presently after he was joined by another whom I recognised as Gray. They exchanged words, and I knew also from a sound overhead that some one was peering at me from the bridge. Once more I called out for Holgate, brandishing my flag vigorously: and then I heard Holgate’s voice below.

“Hold on, doctor!”

He emerged into my line of vision and with him was Pierce, his lank red face upturned to me, his lower jaw in its socket. Gray gesticulated, indicating me, and Holgate stood passively looking at me. Suddenly the ex-boatswain put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a revolver and presented at me. It was the work of a moment. Holgate struck his arm up, and the bullet whizzed past me and banged into the chart-house.

“Steady there, doctor,” said Holgate. “Glad to see you. Just in time, wasn’t I? Step along down there.” I moved towards the ladder and descended to the lower deck, where Holgate met me.

“Difficult to keep our respective men in hand, isn’t it, doctor?” he said with a quizzical look. “But I won’t have any firing on a flag of truce any more than you. You and I keep to the code of honour.”

I could have sworn that the piece of comedy which had just been performed had been his. I knew for certain now that it was his jest, this crude and savage joke that was on the margin of tragedy, and might have gone over the border. But what would he care, this infamous man of astute intelligence, cold, cunning, and ruthless determination? His eyes twinkled, and he laughed now so as to disclose his abominable fang.

“We are now quits, eh, doctor?” he said. “His Royal Highness would have had me but for you, and now Pierce yonder would have potted you but for me. I like honourable warfare,” he chuckled.

“Well,” said I cheerfully, for I was resolved to take him in his own way, “then the Prince’s offence is wiped out. He is forgiven.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to forgive about the Prince,” says Holgate indifferently. “I don’t want him. I want his safe. What’s a Prince or two?” He looked at me narrowly. “Shall we get to business? Changed your minds?”

“There’s not the slightest chance of that,” I answered. “You may set that on record.”

“Say, I will,” said he, unexpectedly turning, and called out, “Pierce, Gray, come here. Just listen to the whoop our cockerels give up there. Now, doctor, spit it out.”

“I have nothing to add to my statement that there is no chance of any terms,” I said sharply.

“Think of that,” observed Holgate to the others. “They don’t know what’s good for them. Well, let ’em alone, doctor. Let ’em stew in their juice. They’ll come round in a brace of shakes, after a little argument, let’s say.”

Gray guffawed, and Pierce grinned, his thin face puckering to his eyes, an unpleasing sight. It was clear who was master here. Holgate commanded by the sheer force of his individuality and his coolness.

“Well, to what do we owe the honour of this visit?” went on Holgate easily. “Come to borrow some of our provisions? Strikes me you’re a bit fond of the forecastle. We shall have to make room for you. Got room for a little one inside, Pierce?”

The joke sent Gray off again, but I was aware that this gross fooling was as much a piece of acting as had been the feint of shooting at me. He was playing to an audience, and that audience a gallery that dealt only in crude fun. Why did he do it? What was his object? He puzzled me. But I made answer very plainly.

“You know my profession, Mr. Holgate. We had a second officer...?” I paused.

“Have!” he corrected mildly. “Have; not, of course, on active service resting, let us say.”

Gray giggled. His master was as good as the clown in a circus to his tickled ears. Holgate looked at me.

“There’s nothing much the matter with Legrand,” he went on, “save natural chagrin and a crack on the head. You see, I got him just so.” He put both hands together in a comprehensive gesture, “and it interfered with his vertebrae. But better see him, doctor, better see him; and while you’re about it, we’ve got a job or two more for you.”

I followed him, as he spoke, towards the forecastle deck, and soon was busy in my professional capacity, Holgate chatting the while very wheezily in my ear. And when I had finished he had the hatch opened and I descended to the prisoners.

“I’m accompanying you, doctor,” explained Holgate, “not because I’m going to spy on you that would be mean, and not in the game but as a guarantee of good faith, as one might say. You see I feel responsible for you, and if some one with an imperfect sense of honour, say like the Prince, should take it into his head to clap hatches on you, where would my reputation be?”

He smiled, took a lamp from one of his men and descended after me.

The prisoners were standing or squatting moodily about in that small compartment of the hold, which was otherwise almost empty, and lying on his back with his face turned towards us was the second officer. His eyes gave no indication that he was aware of my presence, though they were wide open, and, I confess, I was alarmed to see his condition. It looked like death. I felt his pulse, and examined him, and all the time his eyes were on me unwavering. His high colour had fallen away, and his face was now spotted with unhealthy blotches on a pallid skin. I pressed my fingers to the back of his neck, puzzled, and as I did so my body came betwixt Holgate with the light and Legrand.

It seemed to me that now the eyes moved, and I could have declared that one of them closed sharply and opened again. But at the moment Holgate shifted his position the eyes were again dull and vacant.

I drew in my underlip, and stood up, looking at the mutineer.

“A heavy crack,” said I.

“Well, I suppose he came down rather nastily,” said Holgate, unperturbed. “I’m sorry. I bear Legrand no grudge. He was a good navigating officer.”

“It looks like brain lesion,” I said. “But I should like to examine more carefully.”

“Welcome, doctor, welcome,” said he cheerfully, “always welcome, so long as I command this ship. Fly a flag and I’ll see there’s no reigning princes about. I’m the only prince here, you may take my word for that.”

I thanked him coolly, and giving the prisoners some directions for the care of Legrand, climbed to the deck. As I left the lower deck with the suave compliments of Holgate in my ears, I had two things in my mind to ponder. In the first place, there was the mystery behind the chief mutineer. What ailed him that he had made no attack on our weak garrison? And had the deviation of the yacht’s cruise been an adequate reason for leaving the strong-room untouched? Again, when he had offered terms, had he not known that we could not accept them, and why had he conducted himself with such easy insolence as to prevent us from accepting them had we been disposed to do so? This problem frankly baffled me. But the other thought was more consolatory. I was convinced that Legrand was not much injured, and I guessed that he was “shamming.” That he had winked at me to convey his real case seemed obvious. My heart rose at the thought, for it had been downcast, heaven knows. But it was something to feel that we had allies forward, in the heart of the enemy, even if they were at present under hatches. I had faith somehow in Legrand, a silent, forcible man, and I entered the staterooms with cheerfulness.

Oddly enough, the note with which I was received bore some relation to that cheerfulness, for I was admitted to the tune of tremulous laughter. It was Ellison who let me in, but the laughter did not proceed from him. Half-way down the corridor was Sir John in animated conversation with Mademoiselle. At least, the animation was on her part, for he was decorously stolid, and favoured me with a nod.

“Managed it, then, Phillimore. Good for you,” he said with amiable patronage. “I though it was all up when I heard that shot. But Mademoiselle put her money on you.”

“Ah, was I not right?” she asked archly in her pretty English. “I know the doctor. He is an old friend of mine.”

She was dressed in a smart morning gown, somewhat open at the throat, and her admirable voice seemed to encompass us in its sympathy. One could not but feel pleased and flattered by her faith. I smiled.

“I am glad to say that Legrand’s safe, but hors de combat,” I went on. “Perhaps not for long. We may have a surprise in store for us. At any rate, Holgate does not know everything. He’s a little too clever, to my mind.”

“Oh, I wish they were all hanged, and dead,” broke out Mademoiselle, with an impatient gesticulation.

“They will be in due time,” said Barraclough.

“Tell me, Sir John, tell me, doctor, is there any danger?” she asked vivaciously.

Sir John was ever deliberate, and I anticipated him.

“None, or very little at present, I think.”

“Ah!” she beamed on us both. “Then you shall have time to play with me. Do you play breedge, Sir John?”

I turned away, for it was time to relieve Lane in the saloon.