mind. I could recall his cry when
he had said that we were aboard the wrong ship; and let me do what I
might, I could not rid myself of the belief that his voice and look at
that moment were artificial and theatrical. Once, in the middle of that
rough-and-tumble which ended in my involuntary plunge into the water,
I had caught sight of him in the gleam of a sickly oil-lamp which swung
above the deck. He was held, yet not restrained, by a burly seaman, and
the picture was burned into my mind as if by fire. The man was peering
over his shoulder, ten thousand times more interested in watching
the progress of the struggle than in guarding Brunow, and Brunow
was watching the struggle too, but not in the least with any look of
amazement, but only with one which I could not for the life of me help
construing into fear and shame and self-reproach. It was like a scene
beheld by lightning, divided and apart from everything else, and I found
it ineffaceable.

It seemed to me obvious that the first thing to be done was to
communicate with Ruffiano's friends, for whether he had been spirited
away by design or not, it was undeniable that he was in a strange
predicament. I set out at once for our ordinary meeting-place, taking
Hinge with me, and a brisk walk of a quarter of an hour brought me to
the spot. The room in which we held our meetings was approached by an
entrance which ran beside the lower room of the restaurant. I left Hinge
in this narrow passage, and mounted the stairs rapidly. Before I reached
the room I heard the hum of excited voices, and when I tried the door I
found that it was locked; I gave the signal known to every member of our
fraternity, and the door was opened. The man who opened it, a swarthy
Neapolitan whom I barely knew by name, started with amazement as he saw
me, and gave vent to an ejaculation. There were perhaps a score of men
in the room, and as I stepped forward they all started to their feet
and began to press about me with questionings, of which I could barely
understand a phrase. One man only hung aloof, and that man was Brunow. I
was so amazed to see him there, and so bewildered by the din of welcome
and inquiry, that I had no opportunity for a real observation of
anything; but I am a mistaken man indeed if Brunow were not to the full
as much amazed at seeing me as I at seeing him.

"My good friends," I called out at last, "let me have silence for a
minute. Where is Count Ruffiano?"

Every one