eness, but the _Almirante Gomez_ was twelve days out of New
York and Bell was still entirely ignorant of why he was on board. He
had been called into the office of his chief in the State Department
and told curtly that his request for leave of absence had been
granted. And Bell had not asked for a leave of absence. But at just
that moment he saw a rubber band on the desk of his immediate
superior, a fairly thick rubber band which had been tied into a
certain intricate knot. And Bell had kept quiet. He went to his
apartment, found his bags packed and tickets to Rio via the _Almirante
Gomez_ in an envelope on his dressing-table, and went out and caught a
train to the ship.

[Illustration]

And that was all he knew. The siren up above blared dolefully into the
fog. It was damp, and soggy, and depressing. The other passengers were
under cover, and the decks seemed to be deserted. From the saloon came
the sound of music. Bell pulled the collar of his light topcoat about
his throat and strolled on toward the bow.

He faced a row of steamer chairs. There was a figure curled up in one
of them. Paula Canalejas, muffled up against the dampness and staring
somberly out into the mist. Bell had met her in Washington and liked
her a great deal, but he swore softly at sight of her in his way.

The afternoon before, he had seen a stoker on the _Almirante Gomez_
pick up a bit of rope and absently tie knots in it while he exchanged
Rabelasian humor with his fellows. He had not looked at Bell at all,
but the knots he tied were the same that Bell had last seen tied in a
rubber band on a desk in the State Department in Washington. And Bell
knew a recognition signal when he saw one. The stoker would be off
watch, just now, and by all the rules of reason he ought to be out
there on the forecastle, waiting for Bell to turn up and receive
instructions.

* * * * *

But Bell paused, lit a cigarette carefully, and strolled forward.

"Mr. Bell."

He stopped and beamed fatuously at her. It would have been logical for
him to fall in love with her, and it is always desirable to seem
logical. He had striven painstakingly to give the impression that he
had fallen in love with her--and then had striven even more
painstakingly to keep from doing it.

"Hullo," he said in bland surprise. "What are you doing out on deck?"

Brown eyes regarded him speculatively.

"Thinking," she said succinctly. "About you, Mr. Bel