the last time--will you marry me?"

The subtlety he had employed had been greater than he knew, and it had
achieved something beyond his utmost hopes.

He murmured incoherently and took her to his arms. I really do not see
that he could have done anything else. It was a plain and simple issue,
and she herself had protested that the issue was plain and simple.

And then the door opened abruptly and Sir Terence came in. Nor did he
discreetly withdraw as a man of feeling should have done before the
intimate and touching spectacle that met his eyes. On the contrary, he
remained like the infernal marplot that he intended to be.

"Very proper," he sneered. "Very fit and proper that he should put right
in the eyes of the world the reputation you have damaged for his sake,
Sylvia. I suppose you're to be married."

They moved apart, and each stared at O'Moy Sylvia in cold anger,
Tremayne in chagrin.

"You see, Sylvia," the captain cried, at this voicing of the world's
opinion he feared so much on her behalf.

"Does she?" said Sir Terence, misunderstanding. "I wonder? Unless you've
made all plain."

The captain frowned.

"Made what plain?" he asked. "There is something here I don't
understand, O'Moy. Your attitude towards me ever since you ordered me
under arrest has been entirely extraordinary. It has troubled me more
than anything else in all this deplorable affair."

"I believe you," snorted O'Moy, as with his hands behind his back
he strode forward into the room. He was pale, and there was a set,
malignant sneer upon his lip, a malignant look in the blue eyes that
were habitually so clear and honest.

"There have been moments," said Tremayne, "when I have almost felt you
to be vindictive."

"D'ye wonder?" growled O'Moy. "Has no suspicion crossed your mind that I
may know the whole truth?"

Tremayne was taken aback. "That startles you, eh?" cried O'Moy, and
pointed a mocking finger at the captain's face, whose whole expression
had changed to one of apprehension.

"What is it?" cried Sylvia. Instinctively she felt that under this
troubled surface some evil thing was stirring, that the issues perhaps
were not quite as simple as she had deemed them.

There was a pause. O'Moy, with his back to the window now, his hands
still clasped behind him, looked mockingly at Tremayne and waited.

"Why don't you answer her?" he said at last. "You were confidential
enough when I came in. Can it be that you are keeping somet