eddying waters.

He turned sharply on his heel, and went below--deep below.

* * * * *

When he reappeared he went straight to his stateroom. Here, in the cabin
sleeping quarters below the promenade deck, nothing disturbing had
happened. When such passengers as were about to turn in became aware of
that slow lurch and easy stoppage, they had stepped out into the
passageways, and asked each other what was the matter; which question
was answered almost immediately by ship's people who came hurrying among
them with reassuring words. "It's nothing, ladies and gentlemen. If you
will go back to your rooms, ladies and gentlemen--it's nothing." And
they had gone back to their rooms.

Cadogan turned on the light in his room, and hauled out his suit-case.
He found a pad of paper, found also a fountain pen, shook the pen to
make sure there was ink in it, let down the covering of the wash-basin
for a desk, laid thereon a small photograph of a beautiful face and head
_en profile_, and began to write. He set down "Dear," and paused. He
smiled faintly, wrote "Helen" after it, and went unhesitatingly on:

This afternoon, over our tea, as I concluded one of my almost
endless monologues, you may remember you said, "You'd better watch
out or some day you will be having your last adventure." Well, I
have had it. Not with this ship--no, no. My last adventure was a
dream of you. I was on the dock, about to board a steamer for South
America, when I saw you step out of your cab. And so I came aboard
here. I am glad I came.

You brushed me in passing, as I stood beside the gangplank trying
not to stare at you; but you did not know that--did you?--although
for an instant I thought you did. It was the conceit of youth, that
thought.

Cadogan held up his pen. The sound of hurrying feet from the passageway,
the noise of fists pounding on doors, of high-pitched voices asking and
answering questions, broke on his ears. He listened, stared at the
air-port for a moment, and resumed his writing:

About this time a steward is pounding on your door and _hin_forming
you that you are to go on deck and be ready to go into the boats.
Nothing serious, he is probably saying. The poor man who tells you
so, I am sure, does not suspect, but whoever told him to carry that
message knew better. Perhaps it is just as well he does not
suspect.