I would marry her to-morrow, priest or protestant, for
her religion would be mine."

There was a spark of admiration in Breitmann's eyes. This man Cathewe
was out of the ordinary. Well, as for that, so was he himself. He
walked silently to the door and opened it, standing aside for the other
to pass. "She is perfectly free. Marry her. She is all and more than
you wish her to be. Will you go now?"

Cathewe bowed and turned on his heel. Breitmann had really got the
better of him.

A peculiar interview, and only two strong men could have handled it in
so few words. Not a word above normal tones; once or twice only, in
the flutter of the eyelids or in the gesture of the hands, was there
any sign that had these been primitive times the two would have gone
joyously at each other's throats.

"I owed her that much," said Breitmann as he locked the door.

"It did not matter at all to me," was Cathewe's thought, as he knocked
on Fitzgerald's door and heard his cheery call, "I only wanted to know
what sort of man he is."

"Oh, I really don't know whether I like him or not," declared
Fitzgerald. "I have run across him two or three times, but we were
both busy. He has told me a little about himself. He's been knocked
about a good deal. Has a title, but doesn't use it."

"A title? That is news to me. Probably it is true."

"I was surprised to learn that you knew him at all."

"Not very well. Met him in Munich mostly."

A long pause.

"Isn't Miss Killigrew just rippin'? There's a comrade for some man.
Lucky devil, who gets her! She is new to me every day."

"I think I warned you."

"You were a nice one, never to say a word that you knew the admiral!"

"Are you complaining?"

Fitzgerald laughed; no not exactly; he wasn't complaining.

"You remember the caravan trails in the Lybian desert; the old ones on
the way to Khartoum? The pathway behind her is like that, marked with
the bleached bones of princely and ducal and common hopes." Cathewe
stretched out in his chair. "Since she was eighteen, Jack, she has
crossed the man-trail like a sandstorm, and quite as innocently, too."

"Oh, rot! I'm no green and salad youth."

"Your bones will be only the tougher, that's all."

Another pause.

"But what's your opinion regarding Breitmann?"

Cathewe laced his fingers and bent his chin on them. "There's a great
rascal or a great hero somewhere under his skin."

CHAPTER XV

THEY GO A-SAIL