that she has not the strength
to enforce the carrying out of the Monroe Doctrine. Things were all very
well for her before the days of wireless telegraphy, of aeroplanes and
airships, of super-dreadnoughts, and cruisers with the speed of express
trains. She was too far away to be concerned in European turmoils.
To-day science is annihilating distance. America, leaving out of account
altogether her military impotence, would need a fleet three times her
present strength to enforce the Monroe Doctrine for the remainder--not
of this century but of this decade."

Then the bombshell fell. A strange voice suddenly intervened, a voice
whose American accent seemed more marked than usual. The four men turned
their heads. Selingman sprang to his feet. Mr. Grex's face was marble in
its whiteness. Monsieur Douaille, with a nervous sweep of his right arm,
sent his glass crashing to the floor. They all looked in the same
direction, up to the little music gallery. Leaning over in a careless
attitude, with his arms folded upon the rail, was Richard Lane.

"Say," he begged, "can I take a hand in this little discussion?"

CHAPTER XXXVI

CHECKMATE!

Of the four men, Selingman was the first to recover himself.

"Who the hell are you, and how did you get up there?" he roared.

"I am Richard Lane," the young man explained affably, "and there's a way
up from the music-room. You probably didn't notice it. And there's a way
down, as you may perceive," he added, pointing to the spiral staircase.
"I'll join you, if I may."

There was a dead silence as for a moment Richard disappeared and was
seen immediately afterwards descending the round staircase. Mr. Grex
touched Selingman on the arm and whispered in his ear. Selingman nodded.
There were evil things in the faces of both men as Lane approached them.

"Will you kindly explain your presence here at once, sir?" Mr. Grex
ordered.

"I say!" Richard protested. "A joke's a joke, but when you ask a man to
explain his presence on his own boat, you're coming it just a little
thick, eh? To tell you the truth, I had some sort of an idea of asking
you the same question."

"What do you mean--your own boat?" Draconmeyer demanded.

He was, perhaps, the first to realise the situation. Richard thrust his
hands into his pockets and sat upon the edge of the table.

"Seems to me," he remarked, "that you gentlemen have made some sort of a
mistake. Where do you think you are, anyway?"

"On b