which he shivered.

Jean did not seem to be affected by the sudden change of temperature.
She sat on the top of the cabin, her chin in the palm of her hand, her
elbow on her crossed knee.

"You are not going into Gibraltar?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"I think not," he said, "nor to Algeciras. Did you see that fellow on
the quay yelling for the craft to come back after we left Malaga? That
was a bad sign. I expect the police have instructions to detain this
boat, and most of the ports must have been notified."

"How long can we run?"

"We've got enough gas and grub to reach Dacca," he said. "That's roughly
an eight-days' journey."

"On the African coast?"

He nodded, although she could not see him.

"Where could we get a ship to take us to South America?" she asked,
turning round.

"Lisbon," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, we could reach Lisbon, but there
are too many steamers about and we're certain to be sighted. We might
run across to Las Palmas, most of the South American boats call there,
but if I were you I should stick to Europe. Come and take this helm,
Jean."

She obeyed without question, and he continued the work which had been
interrupted by a late meal, the painting of the boat's hull, a difficult
business, involving acrobatics, since it was necessary for him to lean
over the side. He had bought the grey paint at Malaga, and happily there
was not much surface that required attention. The stumpy mast of the
_Jungle Queen_ had already gone overboard--he had sawn it off with great
labour the day after they had left Cap Martin.

She watched him with a speculative eye as he worked, and thought he had
never looked quite so unattractive as he did with an eight-days' growth
of beard, his shirt stained with paint and petrol. His hands were grimy
and nobody would have recognised in this scarecrow the elegant habitue
of those fashionable resorts which smart society frequents.

Yet she had reason to be grateful to him. His conduct toward her had
been irreproachable. Not one word of love had been spoken, nor, until
now, had their future plans, for it affected them both, been discussed.

"Suppose we reach South America safely?" she asked. "What happens then,
Marcus?"

He looked round from his work in surprise.

"We'll get married," he said quietly, and she laughed.

"And what happens to the present Mrs. Stepney?"

"She has divorced me," said Stepney unexpectedly. "I got the papers the
day we left.